


The Devil's Whore

by sku7314977



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 2 endings, Alternate Ending, Blow Jobs, Coercion, Controling Nigel, Creepy Nigel, Dark, Dubious Consent, Duplicity, Extreamly Dark Story, Forced Consent, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Manipulative Nigel, Non-Consensual Elements, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Nigel, Sex, Smut, Someone Help Will Graham, Stalking, Suspense, This is a very, Thriller, Unhealthy Relationships, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 62,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sku7314977/pseuds/sku7314977
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nigel wants something he takes it. Be it money, drugs, booze, women or men - the bad man from Bucharest will stop at nothing to get what he wants.</p><p>And what he wants, is Will Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poor Decisions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milky Way](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Milky+Way).



> Congratulations to _Milky Way_ for winning Seeing Double's mini-contest. 
> 
> Here is your prize, I hope its everything you wanted~<3
> 
> Thank you Everett_Hart for assistance in collaborative ideas~<3
> 
>  **WARNING**  
>  This story is dark, seriously, seriously dark. DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NON-CON. Though this fic is not intended to be non-con/rape I seriously advise that if non-con/rape fics make you uncomfortable you do not read this story, it toes the fucking line and probably dips into it, so if you can't handle non-con/rape then this story probably isn't for you. This story is quite possibly the darkest thing I have ever written. Consider yourself warned.
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Proof read by the beautiful and amazing diedofennui, thank you so much darling for smoothing this shit storm into something more lovely~<3 <3 <3

The place was a dive, smelling of cheap tobacco and overpriced beer.  It wasn’t the sort of place Will would pursue for his own pleasure, dimly lit with a floor made sticky by too many spilled drinks.  But it was perfect for his objective.  Far enough from the University not to follow him home, and enough of a slum that ID didn’t really matter.  
   
He had a fake, most of the kids waiting for their twenty-first in Uni did, but that didn’t mean it always worked.  He’d been cursed with a baby face that almost always landed him with being carded for a second ID.  It was just easier to pay his lab partner to pick up cheap liquor for him and take his pursuits to the more questionable establishments.  
  
Will sat alone at a table in the back, nervous fingers picking the label from his bottle of Anchor.  It peeled down the bottles face in a damp roll of paper beneath his fingernail, leaving a trail of glue and residue on the amber glass.  A lot of his peers got a thrill out of bar-hopping underage, getting drunk and high in their downtime, blowing tuition money on frivolous shit they’d come to regret when the next payment was due.  He hated it, the dancing and noise.  But then again, he’d never been too good with people, much preferring to have a beer at home while studying than hit the town and waste money he couldn’t afford.  
  
He hated this more.  
  
Pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips he took a sip, the smallest amount of liquor sliding over his tongue bitter and sweet.  He was nursing it, sips instead of swallows.  He liked beer, liked whiskey more, but he wasn’t there to get drunk, he was there to make money, and that meant keeping sober.  
  
He took another sip of beer and watched his mark a few tables away.  They were playing cards, had been since he’d arrived.  High stakes, or higher than he was use to anyway.  He’d been listening to them for nearly twenty minutes, watching them from his peripheral as they played one hand after another.  They were speaking something foreign, quick words rolling off their tongues between sharp curses and barks of laughter; chain-smoking as they downed one drink after another.  They were having a good time and from what Will could tell, being very free with the money in their wallets.  They seemed to be far enough along in their drinking he could hope for bad decisions and easy plays.  
  
Will didn’t know what language they were speaking, possibly Russian but he couldn’t be sure, too unfamiliar with that side of the globe to guess; but they also spoke English and that worked for him, ordering their drinks in his native tongue between rounds of cards.  
  
Another sip of beer, less than half the bottle gone, and he was up.  His chair scrapped against old wood as he stood, taking a breath as he slipped his hands in the pockets of his jeans and tried to look casual.  It wasn’t easy for him not to feel, easier to fake.  With thick rimmed glasses sitting low on his nose to cut the patrons he’d have to speak with in half and break the eye contact he found so challenging.  It eased the ball of tension growing tight in his chest as he tried to look like any other normal fucking twenty year old and not like the awkward fisherman’s son he knew he was; fake the confidence of his peers for five fucking minutes and have a semi-normal conversation.  
  
He walked eight short steps with an easy stride, almost lazy with the sort of calm he didn’t feel, and he was at the table.  There were three of them, sitting around the small scarred surface, cigarettes held lose and casual between fingers and bottles at their sides.  Will stood a little more than a foot away from the closest player, a big guy with a shaved head and the faded tattoo of a cat on his neck.  They were the sort of people Will usually tried to avoid, and the only ones he’d found playing without risking his face back at a casino, in three nights.   
  
He was desperate, and in his desperation he called the wrong attention to himself, “Hey, what’s the buy in?”  
  
They ignored him; another hand dealing out as they let Will wash over them like a ghost.  It was usually a good sign that he should leave.  But he really needed to make rent and he wasn’t going to manage it slinging coffee and delivering bad Chinese, not this month.  A case of food poisoning at the restaurant had dropped sales enough to have his pocket feeling it.  
  
He took a breath and said it louder, “I asked: what’s the buy in?”  
  
“Piss off kid.”  Drawled a skinny guy, his hair was slicked and greasy, too much product forced into the bleach blond strands in attempts to keep them back.  He was a coke addict; sniffing and rubbing at his nose every couple of minutes, with a face so thin he looked gaunt.  
  
Will really should be leaving but really needed the cash.  “I want in.”  
  
“You fuckin’ def?  He said piss off,” the man with the cat slurred. He was farther along than the others, drinking two to their one in the short time Will had been in the bar.  
  
Forcing back his trepidation he tried again, “I’ll pay double.”  
  
“If you don’t fuck off, I’m gonna give you something to whine about,” Cat, as Will decided to call the slurring drunk, snapped.  
  
It was enough to have him moving on, he was looking to make some money not get himself killed.  He’d have to find another bar, start over.  He hoped he could still make his quota.  “Alright,” he relented, raising his hands as he turned to leave, “sorry.”  
  
“Buy in is forty.” Will turned back to look at the third man at the table.  He was in his early thirties, dressed in an ugly pale blue shirt with dachshunds printed onto the fabric.  He was better looking than the other two, handsome in a rough sort of way, with high cheek bones and a scar on his nose that Will knew there’d be a story behind.  He addressed Will with complete indifference, not bothering to look up from his cards as he discarded two, replaced them with draws from the deck, and dropped another twenty in the pot.  “Yours is eighty.”   
  
“Nigel-”  
  
“Taci.” he shut the man up with a word.  The addict ground his teeth, looked at his cards and folded.  Apparently Nigel wasn’t a man to be challenged.  Good to know.  
  
The buy in was steeper than he’d anticipated, almost enough to turn him away.  His stomach did a flip as he grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it toward the little table to take a seat between Cat and the skinny guy, right across from the one named Nigel.  Cat dropped a pair of Aces and Nigel raked in the pot with two pair, nines over fours.  
  
“You know the rules?”  Nigel asked, gathering cards to shuffle back into the deck.  He looked up to take in the kid who’d thought to force his way into the game.  He wasn’t what he’d expected.  
  
With sharp blue grey eyes cut in half by glasses worn too far down his nose, and a mop of sweeping chocolate curls that framed his baby face like something from a Renaissance painting, he was obviously too fucking young to be hunting at bars for Nigel’s crowd. Either too desperate or too stupid to think better of it and take his business elsewhere.  He studied him with dark honey eyes and tried to get a read on the kid who sat nervously across from him with a forced neutrality.  He wasn’t making eye contact with anyone, wasn’t looking at them more than a scant second as he worked the buy-in fee from his pocket.  Nigel smiled.  
  
The kid was cute.  
  
Will didn’t answer right away; he was looking at the pot.  A hundred and twenty dollars sat waiting in the table’s middle.  Will’s eighty would bounce the whole thing up to two hundred.  It was a lot of money to throw in on one game, almost all of the money he’d came with and more than he’d meant to spend on one round, but he dropped the crumpled bills into the pot and the coke addict dealt him into the game.   
  
“I’ve played before.”  Will finally answered, scanning his cards. He could feel eyes watching him, not Addict or Cat, but Nigel.  He was paying more attention to Will than to the game and it was making him nervous.  He tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on his skin and concentrate on the game.  Draw Poker wasn’t hard to learn, the process simple enough.  Buy in, five cards each, discard, draw, raise and showdown.  The game itself wasn’t difficult to play; it was knowing your probabilities of draws and dumb luck that made the game a challenge: what to discard and when to fold.  Will could count cards, and knew what his chances were of getting a flush or four of a kind during the first deal, but his luck was shit.  
  
He had a pair of fives, a king, ten, and three.  He kept the king, dropped the ten and the three and drew two more cards.  The chances of getting another king were low, but his odds were doubled with the two cards pulled, and better than going in with a pair of fives.  
  
Eighty dollars riding on a pair of fucking fives, his father would have killed him for taking the buy in.  
  
“You play often?”  Nigel asked in a puff of silver smoke, it curled to disappear in the clouding bar air.  He was still watching the boy; there was a keen mind working behind those bright stormy eyes.  He’d seen him enter the bar, cute little thing with a nice ass, and watched the kid take a corner in the back to stake them out before trying to get in for a play.  He’d thought the kid might have been stupid before, getting in way over his head, but now that he watched him, the intense focus and nervous little ticks, the kid knew he was making bad decisions…but he was too desperate not to.  
  
Nigel wanted to know why.  
  
Will bit his lip and answered him with a nod.  The way he focused, or tried to, with the hint of teeth peeking over the pink of his lip, it was doing things to Nigel, bad things.  He discarded a six and drew a new one before dropping another forty in the pot.  The money gained more of a reaction than the question, his dark brows knitting as he watched bills hit the table, the barest hint of concern fluttering behind grey eyes.  He couldn’t cover the raise.  Good for him, bad for the kid.  Nigel didn’t want him to.  
  
Cat folded and the addict met, tossing another forty into the pot.   
  
Will pulled a crumpled twenty from his pocket and tossed it in to join the rest.  
  
“The raise is forty.”  Addict snapped.  
  
“I bought in at eighty.”  
  
“That’s your fuck up.  Twenty isn’t enough.”  
  
“Twenty is all I’ve got.”  
  
“Too fucking bad then isn’t it?”  Addict sneered, “You can’t meet you’re out.  Piss off.”  
  
“What services will you render for the other twenty?”  It was asked so casually, like an inquiry after the weather.  
  
“Services?”  Will’s stomach did a flip.  He should have left the fucking bar.  
  
“Mm, either you fold and leave your money behind, or you make up the difference,” Nigel explained in a smooth exhale of smoke. He wanted something from Will, and it had every warning bell going off in his head and telling him to run.  
  
He looked at his hand, folded his cards, and laid them flat.  It was a lot of money to walk away from, sure as hell more than he could afford, especially tonight.  “Twenty bucks?”  He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.  This wasn’t how he’d wanted the night to go. “Hand job.”  
  
“Blow job.”  Addict countered.  
  
Will thought of his cards, the number of possibilities to be played against him, the probability of higher sets and suits.  “I’m not a cheap whore.  Hand job.”  
  
Nigel grinned, chuckling as he wet his lip with a sweep of tongue.  “You heard him Elek.  Hand job.”  
  
“I wouldn’t pay hi-”  
  
“A whore wouldn’t touch your greasy cock for a hundred dollars.”  
  
Addict, Elek, scowled, lip pulled back to reveal surprisingly straight teeth, “What if I raise it another hundred?  Then fucking what?  He gonna bet his tight whore ass on this game?  Get fucked for the chance at my money?”  
  
“Your money?”  Nigel gave him a look, “You think the cards in your hand are so fucking good the pot on this table is your fucking money?  Elek.” So condescending, like laughing off the foolish whim of a child.  It made the addict that much angrier, the skin around his jaw growing tight.  
  
This guy was mad, furious.  He would bet anything for the chance to one up Will and put him in his place.  It made him dangerous, but it also made him stupid.  “Sex would be the equivalent of my going all in.  I’d want the same.”  
  
Amber eyes turned to meet stormy blue and Will saw something hungry in them that made his hair stand on end.  “All in?” Nigel asked, leaning back in his chair as he ashed his cigarette to let the embers fall to the floor.  “What experience do you have with sex that makes you worth,” he looked at the bills next to his drink, “five hundred dollars?”  
  
Five hundred in his personal little pile of cash, plus the pot, plus whatever Elek tossed in - if he didn’t drop out – it was enough. Will wouldn’t have to worry about rent or making his tuition payment that month.  Just work his job to keep himself in food and cheap coffee.  “Absolutely none, I’ve never slept with anyone.”  
  
“A virgin?  A fucking virgin, are you fucking kidding me?”  There was humor in his voice but nothing of the sort reflected in his eyes, those were filled with fire, carnal with desire.  “You better not be fucking lying to me.”  He pushed his money in the pot, opened his wallet and pulled out more, dropping enough bills onto the table that Will wanted to check his hand again.  He should have cut his losses and ran.  “I’m all in.  Elek?”  
  
“Fuck this kid.”  Spooked off by too much money on the table he dropped his cards, “I’m not throwing down four fifty for a chance at a fucking virgin.”  
  
“Virgins are the most fun,” Nigel corrected in a purr. “Don’t know what they’re getting into, can’t fake it or hide it.”  He doesn’t take his eyes off Will, and he could feel the hunger pulling at him with every accent-curled word. “Every pull of pleasure is like a fucking drug they can’t ignore.  You’re a fucking idiot if you can’t value the boon he’s throwing out.  He must be desperate for the money.”  
  
“He’s lying.”  
  
“You won’t know that until you’re balls deep in his tight little ass.  If he knows what he’s doing, he still owes you.  If he doesn’t,” Will felt his cock stir, empathy be damned, “take your fucking time with him.”  
  
He curses something Will doesn’t understand that has Cat laughing, and pushes his money in.  
   
There’s easily over a grand sitting in the pot and there is no going back on it now.   
  
“Straight,” Elek spat flipping his cards and downing his beer.  
  
Nigel rolled his next, “Three of a kind.”  
  
Will flipped his cards with a wash of relief and bubble of adrenalin, “Full house, kings and fives.” He’d been hoping for three of a kind or a second pair; he hadn’t thought he’d get both and quietly thanked every deity he could think of.  He reached for the money and just missed the knife that pushed through the thick wad of bills and into the table.  
  
“Like fuck you win, you fucking cheated you little cunt!”  
  
Nigel turned on him, “Would you pull a fucking knife on my hand?  I’d cut off your fucking cock and feed it to you.  The man won, give him his fucking money Elek.”  
  
“He fucking cheated!  I’m not letting him off with my fucking money.”  
  
“Keep the money.” Will got up, he’d take the hit and catch the first train back to SUNO before he got himself raped or worse.  He’d worry about rent in the morning.  
  
“Don’t you fucking leave.” Nigel ordered, almost warned, making the younger man stop before turning back to Elek.  “Get your knife out of my table.”  
  
“He said we could keep the mone-”  
  
“I don’t give a fuck about the money.”  He grabbed the blade, prying it from the wood and out of addict’s hand to throw across the bar floor.  “He won.”  Honey eyes turned back to Will and he wanted to run.  “Let me buy you a drink.”  
  
“I’m fine, I’m just gonna go.”  
  
He clucked his tongue, eyes narrowing as he snubbed out his cigarette and rose from his chair.  “One drink. I just want a little conversation and you can take your money and go.”  He gathered the mess of bills into a pile, tapped them into a haphazard stalk and held it out to Will, “One drink.”  
  
He looked at the pile of cash and wondered if it was a trick, like a mouse drawn to a trap by the sweet promise of food.  He took the bait, pulling out his wallet to shove as much of the thick wad into the ancient leather as he could fit before shoving the rest in his pocket.  He’d take a cab home, fuck the bus. There was too much on hand and too much of the wrong attention directed at him to be taking a walk to the station.  “One drink,” he agreed because it was a better idea to keep this guy happy than to annoy him.  
  
Nigel smiled and led the way to the bar, reaching over the counter to grab two glasses and a bottle of Lagavulin scotch.  He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Elek to get his knife out of his table, either he owned the place or he was tight enough with the owners that he might as well have his name on the lease.  
  
Looking at the label, Will recognized the brand though he’d never tasted it before.  It was high end, better than anything else they were serving in the dump of a bar and most likely Nigel’s private stash.  “What’s your name?”  He poured them three fingers each and Will tried to remember the last time he’d eaten.  This was going to hit him a lot harder than the beer.   
  
“Will.”  
  
“Will,” he said it as though tasting it, curling it on his accent in a way that was far too attractive for the dangerous man.  “Hello Will, I’m Nigel. The skinny ass hole licking his wounds behind us is Elek, and the big guy is Anton.”  He introduced them without bothering to look back at the pair left behind.  They weren’t invited and knew to keep their distance.  “Where did you learn to play cards?”  
  
Will knew that he didn’t care; he was just making light conversation while waiting for the tense youth to relax.  He kept his eyes on his drink, aware of the movements that happened around him, but trying not to look paranoid.  Paranoia would only attract more attention, and he already had more than enough.  He didn’t want anymore.  “My dad’s fishing buddies.  I used to watch them play on the docks for quarters.  They let me join in a couple of times, taught me the game.”  Will held his glass but didn’t drink it, waiting until he saw Nigel take a swallow before bringing it to his own lips for a taste; just enough not to piss off the guy and to seem neither ungrateful nor rude.  
  
“You’re pretty good.  What's the money for?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.”  
  
He smiled, crooked teeth showing like a shark, “That’s good, none of my business.  You in school?”  
  
Will touched his face, skin soft under his hands and still too smooth.  He’d tried growing stubble to make himself look older and gotten in trouble for the unprofessional look at work,  clean shaven he always looked too young for his age. “Collage.”  
  
“How old?”  
  
“My ID says twenty-one.”  
  
“And your birth certificate?”  
  
Will smiled and took another sip, the taste of smoke and the burn of good liquor over his tongue making his stomach warm.  “I’m studying forensics at the Southern University of New Orleans.”  
   
“You must be a clever little bitch to study forensics.  What do you plan on doing with that?”   
  
“I’m hoping to go into law.”  He shrugged. “But you really don’t care about that.  You’re still hoping to get in my pants.”  
  
“I was hoping to share a drink.”  He tossed back the expensive liquor like a cheap shot.  “But I’m still interested in you.”  
  
Will took another sip, “I’m not for sale.”  
  
 “I never said you were.”  The sound of a table flipping had Nigel spinning to see Anton with a chair in hand, ready to break it over Elek’s head.  “Fuck, hold that thought darling.” Nigel looked back toward Will to find an empty bar stool, heard the slamming of the door.  
  
 It made him smile. “Clever little bitch.”  He listened the sound of wood breaking and ignored the scream of pain, turning his attention instead to the abandoned glass still three fingers full on the counter. “You still owe me a drink.”  
  
OoOoO  
  
TBC  
  



	2. Who's There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will runs home in an attempt to escape Nigel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings~<3
> 
> For those of you still reading, I hope you're all enjoying this dark and dirty little fic, I know I am. C;
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to kudo and comment this piece, I always appreciate hearing from my readers and I've never received so many kudos on a single chapter before as what I have for this story. Thank you, it really helps me understand how many of you are enjoying this fic.
> 
> Now on with the show!!!
> 
> I own noting.
> 
> Beta read by the charming and witty diedofennui. Thank you for taking the time to rush this piece out for me darling~<3

Will took the stairs two at a time, sucking back air like he’d just ran a marathon, his shirt sticking to his back and chest with sweat.  He couldn’t get to his apartment fast enough, nearly hitting the door when he reached the top and fumbled for his keys.  He couldn’t remember running so hard in his life, no slowing down or stopping, his throat raw with his efforts.  Paranoia kept him moving, looking over his shoulder with every shift of shadow and rustle of leaves.  His key scrapped against the lock’s face as he tried to catch it inside.  Will drove it home when the tip finally caught and flipped the deadbolt.  
  
Throwing himself inside and slamming the door hard enough to wake his neighbors, tossing the dead bolt with numb fingers, Will finally felt the fear that had been drowning him begin to ebb.  He hadn’t felt terror like this since he was a child, not since he’d stayed up late hiding in the shadows of the kitchen to watch the movie ‘IT’ over his father’s shoulder when he was six years old.  He didn’t sleep for two days after that, and was punished for stealing his father’s fishing knife when he’d been caught carrying the weapon while checking his room for clowns.  
  
He still didn’t like clowns.  
  
Breath heaving he turned his back to the door and slid down against it, settling in a pile on the floor to feel the cool seep through his clothes and kiss his burning skin.  He was hot, sweaty, and his legs felt boneless.  
  
Will hadn’t called a cab like he’d intended, he couldn’t risk the chance of Nigel finding him during the wait; instead he’d sprinted from the bar like he was being chased by a serial killer and veered off ducking down two side streets in an attempt to lose anyone tailing him.  He’d gotten himself lost for his efforts and been forced to google a map on his phone.  
  
Not wanting to be predictable, he’d ran past the nearest bus stop and forced his tired legs to carry him all the way to the sixth.  His lungs felt like they were going to explode, and he was pretty sure his heart was on the verge of giving out, but at least he knew he’d made it home without being followed.  
  
His head lolled back to thump gently against the door and he managed a breathy chuckle.  “Twelve hundred dollars…” he laughed, working his wallet out of his pants with a shaky hand and digging stray bills from his pocket with the other.  He dropped the whole of his winnings in a pile on the floor in front of him and tried to wrap his head around what had transpired that night.  
  
Looking at the mess of green he felt like he was going to throw up and it wasn’t an entirely bad feeling.  Beneath the waning fear was the thrill of excitement for what he’d managed and what he’d gotten away with.  He counted the money with unsteady fingers and laughed again, it didn’t sound entirely sane and he didn’t care. “Thirteen hundred and fifty fucking dollars,” he was grinning like a bastard and he knew it. It was more money than he’d ever had all at once with the exception of his government loan and that had been spent within a day of receiving it.  
  
But this, if he was careful, really careful, and didn’t splurge the extra, Will could make it last a long, long while.  For once he wouldn’t have to worry about giving up a shift in favor of studying and know that when he did, he’d still be able to afford food in the morning.  “God damn it, I could have gotten myself killed.”  But he hadn’t, and he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face looking at the small fortune he’d won in a single take.  
  
It was a night he never wanted to repeat and he was going to celebrate with whatever scraps he could find in his cupboard before passing out for the scant few hours before school.  
  
A sudden knock nearly had his bladder control caving, and he threw himself from the door, crawling away to scatter money over linoleum as he slipped and skid over the pile in his escape.  Bile burned his throat and he twisted to sit, staring at the door as the brass knob rattled and his heart pounded hard enough to hurt.  
  
“He’d followed me home,”  Will mumbled, eyes wide in terror.  The psycho from the bar had actually followed him home.  
  
Panicked, he pat himself down for his phone, hands shaking and fingers numb as he tried and failed to punch in his password and unlock the device.  Another bang on the door almost had him dropping it and he tried again to make his fingers work, swallowing the sour burn of bile.  The device lit with his main screen on the third attempt and he fumbled 9-1-1 into the phone.   “Come on Will, open up.  It’s late and I forgot my key.”  It took him a second to gather his wits, thumb hovering over ‘Call’ as his mind processed the voice.  
  
It was Bev.  
  
“Jesus Christ…” He swallowed back more acid and shuffled his money back in a pile, stuffing it awkwardly into his wallet as he stumbled back to his feet.  “Coming,” he called over another succession of knocks that had his heart hammering.  He was strung tight enough he’d count himself lucky if he didn’t give himself an aneurism.  
  
Taking a breath to try and calm a few of his fraying nerves, Will tried not to look like a wreck as he flipped the lock and opened the door, greeting his disgruntled lab partner on the other side with what he hoped was a neutral look.  
  
She was dressed for bed, wearing a pair of striped pajama bottoms and a faded halter top, “Shit Graham, what happened to you?”  Apparently his attempts at neutral had failed.  
  
She stepped into the rundown apartment, tossing her bag to the side as she gave all her attention to the man pale as plaster and dripping sweat in front of her.  “Are you okay?”  He closed the door behind her and locked it again.  
  
“Yeah, fine.” He felt safer with the company and found himself feeling grateful for the surprise house call, despite his close brush with a heart attack.  
  
She looked him up and down with a quirked brow, “Yeah, I can totally see that.  You look like you just ran a marathon and are on the verge of throwing up.”  
  
It wasn’t too far from the truth.  
  
He waved her off, walking on shaky legs to the sink to fill a large pink plastic cup with water.  It was one of three glasses he owned, not one of them matching another.  Really he owned two glasses and one colorful piece of plastic, along with two mugs he used more than anything.  
  
“Well, you’re not too far off.”  He downed a glass of water, refilled it, and drank another half glass again.  He still felt sick, and suspected it had more to do with thinking another knock was going to come at any moment than with his dehydration and frantic run.  
  
Bev opened her bag and shoved aside several school books and a change of clothes to drag out a bottle of cheap whiskey.  “Either you can tell me what happened, or I’m going to get you drunk and shave your head.”  Will wasn’t sure whether he believed the threat, but knew enough not to test the waters.  
  
Resigning himself to a conversation he didn’t really want to have, he put the glass to the side and hoisted himself onto the counter. He slouched with his shoulders pressed against a cabinet.  “Remember how I said my hours were getting cut at the restaurant?” he asked, watching as Bev pulled down his mugs, their mugs.  She’d bought one.  
  
“Yeah, something about a guy standing in the middle of the restaurant screaming ‘Kung pao chicken!’ while barfing his guts out turning the customers away.  What about it?”  She wasn’t surprised that business had dropped after that, neither she nor Will had brought anything home from Happy Little Garden since.  
  
She poured two fingers of whiskey into Will's mug and he reached over to tip the bottle until it filled five.  “I couldn’t make rent this month.  Not and pay tuition.”  He was on a special payment plan with the school, with the government only supplying so much of his tuition via loan, he had to come up with the rest. The simplest system had been one negotiated between himself and the school, paid in monthly installments.  
  
Bev frowned, “You didn’t mention that part.”  She took a drink of her whiskey and watched Will take a swallow of his, he was looking to get drunk - an unusual venture for him with his predilection for good grades and studying – which meant the night must have been bad. “What did you do?”  
  
He rolled the mug in his hands and tried not to look too guilty.  “For the last couple of months, I’ve been gambling to make up the difference.”  He shrugged, “It usually works out.”  
  
“Usually?”  She looked at the bottle and wondered if she’d brought enough, “What have you been using as a float?”  
  
He bit his lip and peeked at her from under his fringe of sweat soaked curls, “Grocery money.”  
  
She didn’t like that answer, “And when you lose?”  
  
He rolled the mug in his hands and shrugged, “Tuition, but it’s that or I move into a box.  I haven’t hit bottom yet-”  
  
“Yet,” Bev cut him off because someone had to.  “Key word there Will.  You’re playing with fire and you’re gonna get burned.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.  But it’s this or I drop out.”  Dropping out wasn’t an option, not for him.  He’d come too far and worked too hard since his time as a poor fisherman’s son to lose it all now.  “My loan doesn’t cover enough.  I have to make up the difference somehow.”  
  
“Bursaries can’t help?”  
  
“I buried myself there, applied too late, I wasn’t awarded any.”  
  
“Idiot,” she didn’t mean it though, she felt bad for him.  “Wish I could help.”  
  
He shrugged again, “Don’t worry about it, you brought the booze.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess.”  She took a deeper swallow and topped them both off, “That doesn’t explain your looking like you’re on the brink of death though.”  Her eyes grew wide as another horror came to mind, “You didn’t lose everything did you?”  
  
 “No, nothing like that, I already said I haven’t hit bottom yet.”  He chewed his lip and looked into the mug of dark amber liquid.  It was the same golden brown of Nigel’s eyes, eyes that he’d felt caress his skin like a hand and seen burn with hunger.  “But I was close.”  Too close; his stomach was still turning from it.  “I went to a dive in a bad area hoping to make some money and got mixed up with the wrong group.”  He took another swallow of whiskey just to distort the memory of the carnal gaze he kept seeing in his glass.  “I got in the game but didn’t have enough money to meet the raise,” he braced himself for the inevitable backlash, “I gambled my V-card.”  
  
“You fucking idiot, you’re lucky you didn’t end up getting raped!” Bev snapped. He didn’t have to look at her to know the anger came from concern, he could hear the concern.  It was fear for her friend, and Will was grateful for that.  “Next time you need to hit up the slums for a couple of bucks take me with you.”  
  
Will gave her a look and she stared him down with a glare, “I grew up with three brothers, I can play cards.  But more importantly, I keep mace in my purse and can call the cops while your bartering your pretty ass for fifty bucks.”  
  
Will smiled and slipped out his wallet, opening the leather to watch her eyes bug in disbelief, “It wasn’t fifty,” he was still feeling giddy under all his anxiety, “thirteen hundred.”  
  
“Fuck.”  She looked impressed despite herself, “You still shouldn’t have bet yourself on it, but…nice job.”  
  
He shrugged and took a less anxious swallow of whiskey. “I won’t be going back.  I’ll hit the other side of the city, if I’m lucky I won’t need to go out playing for a couple of months.”  
  
“And if you do you’ll be taking me with you.”  
  
It wasn’t optional and he smiled, “Fine.”  
  
“Good.”  That seemed to settle some of her own anxieties, “So is it safe to say you’re tired from running for your life after winning all their money?”  
  
“Something like that, one of them got really interested in me.  I jumped ship and ran as soon as his back was turned.”  Bev laughed and Will found himself feeling human again, tired and only a little buzzed on the lingering adrenalin and bad booze.  
  
It was hard to appreciate cheap whiskey after enjoying the smooth smoky burn of something better.  
  
 “Enough about my shitty night, I made a poor decision and made out like a bandit.  What are you doing here?”  
  
Bev scoffed, “And you wonder why you can’t get a date.”  She finished her drink and rinsed the cup for a glass of water as a chaser.  “Roomie’s got a boy over, they’re being loud.  I can’t stop thinking about how she sounds like a sad puppy during orgasm.”  She rubbed her temple and grimaced at the memory, “I couldn’t deal with it anymore and decided to invade your place.”  
  
“But you forgot your key.”  
  
“And I wasn’t going back for it.”  
  
Will shook his head with a smile.  He’d met Beverly Katz in his freshmen year as assigned lab partners and somehow managed to make friends.  They’d remained that way since and tried to pair up in whatever classes they found themselves in together.  Now in their Junior year, Will living in the same shitty apartment he’d rented a little over two years ago, and Beverly living life in dorms, he’d given her a key.  It was the spare that had come with the place, and Will had presented it to her under the pretenses of easy escape from obnoxious vegetarians and loud sex.  They both knew it was because she was his only friend and he liked the company more than he led on.  
  
“Bed or couch?”  Will asked because he was going to bed whether she followed or not.  
  
“I’ll take the couch.  Still have a little studying to do before bed.”   He nodded, slid off the counter and lifted a hand in farewell as he exited the kitchen and went for his room.  
  
He’d sleep easier with another warm body in the house.  
  
OoOoO  
  
Morning came too soon and Will cursed his alarm with every colorful word he could think of.  It turned out to be a remarkably short list first thing in the morning.  
  
Groaning, Will dragged his ass out of bed and trudged back into the kitchen he’d left not so many hours before.  He hadn’t bothered to eat, and his stomach was reminding him of his poor decisions with the effort to digest itself.  One look in the cupboard and he remembered he needed groceries.  He’d have to pick something up on the way into school and stop at the store on his way home.  
  
There was a half-finished pot of coffee keeping warm in the machine and he looked back over his shoulder to the woman studying hard on his couch. Though still dressed in her pajamas, Bev didn’t look like she’d even bothered trying to sleep.  “Are you competing with me for who gets to look shittier in class today?”  
  
She looked up from her text book, squinted at the clock on the microwave and groaned in defeat, falling back against the couch with an over dramatic flop.  “Oh god, it’s time to get up already?”  
  
“Afraid so,” Will answered without sympathy.  Misery loved company.  
  
“Fuck me.”  She rubbed her eyes, textbook sitting heavy in her lap.  She hadn’t even bothered trying to make it to the couch; there was a pile of blankets folded on one end proving she’d made it as far as the linen closet and a suspicious dip in the middle suggesting she’d leaned against them while reading.  It looked to be about the height of her rest for the evening.  
  
“You can stay here and sleep,” he offered. “You might want to change the bedding if you decide to use my bed, but you’re welcome to it.”  She squinted at the clock behind him again and looked back to her book.  “Yeah, thanks Will, I think I’ll take you up on that.”  She dropped her book to the floor and grabbed the pile of blankets from the end of the couch.  
  
He watched her go and wondered if she’d bother with anything beyond throwing a cover over his mess and sleeping on it.  She looked like a coffee fueled zombie.  
  
Grabbing a change of clothes and his backpack before he lost all access to his room, Will showered, dressed, and locked the crap shack that was his apartment on his way out.  Despite his job as a delivery boy, Will didn’t own a car.  When he was driving orders of chow mein from shop to house it was done using the restaurant’s vehicle, which should have been put out of its misery years ago.  
  
Without a car, an expense he would take on once he finished university and had the extra cash to spare, Will traveled by bus, train, and bike for the majority of his destinations.  
  
That didn’t seem to be an option today.  
  
“Good morning gorgeous.”  
  
OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are making it rain on a snoring Will, your comments are distracting Beverly from her studies with a puppet show.
> 
> Nigel takes a long draw from his cigarette as he watches the soft buttery glow from Will's apartment window from the street below. He wants that fucking drink.


	3. Come Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel informs Will there's been a change in plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings, a little later than I intended but life does love to get in the way and the weekend was busy.
> 
> Thank you everyone who's been leaving me all the delightful kudos and comments for this fic, its awesome to know how many of you are enjoying the story. 
> 
> But enough talk! Let's get on with the story~<3
> 
>  
> 
> _Alp: A nightmare demon from German folklore._
> 
>  
> 
> I own nothing. 
> 
> Beta read by the amazing diedofennui ~<3 Thank you darling!!!

Will almost pinched his own arm, he needed to wake up from this nightmare, shoot up shaking and sweat-soaked in bed with a concerned Beverly by his side asking him if he’s alright; eagerly awaiting the opportunity to change the salt-slicked sheets.  
  
He knew he wasn’t about to get that easy ending. This wasn’t a night terror he was going to be waking up from, this was a nightmare that life and fate had specially crafted for him, and he was going to have to find his own way out if he wanted this Alp to go away.  
  
He forced himself to breath, slow and steady, staring in disbelief at the devil himself.    
Nigel gave a wide and charming smile from where he was leaning against a midnight black Dodge Viper.  Sleek with sports car curves, it was a vehicle that didn’t belong in his parking lot, the hundred-thousand dollar car far beyond anything the tenants of his building could afford.    
  
It shouldn’t be here.   
  
Nigel shouldn’t be here.  
  
There was no way this man could have followed him home.  He’d been so careful, taken so many turns, ran down so many roads and gotten fucking lost himself trying to lose this guy.  He shouldn’t have been able to find him, shouldn’t be standing right in front of Will enjoying the slow draw of tobacco between his lips, blowing silver lines of smoke into the early morning air.   
  
He’d been careful, so fucking careful; checking over his shoulder, taking the side streets. He'd skipped every predictable bus stop in proximity to the bar.  Nigel shouldn’t be here.  
   
But he was.  
   
“Even exhausted you look absolutely fucking gorgeous,” he drawled.  This man, Nigel, he didn't need the shitty bar Will had found him in last night.  None of the money passing through its doors would register as more than a blip on this man’s radar.  The cash he’d so carelessly thrown at Will, insisting he take, was pocket change.  That is if his ride was anything to go by.  The sports car he leaned against suggested a job that paid a lot better than the dirty dive Will had ventured into. This meant Nigel probably didn’t own the establishment of last night, he was more likely to own the poor bastard who ran the bar instead, and that, made him far more dangerous than Will had previously suspected.  
   
"Nigel." His throat felt tight and it was hard to force the name over his tongue with those keen honey eyes watching him.  Nigel, Will noted, had changed his shirt.  The ugly dachshund-print bowler replaced with a white button-down covered in large red roses.  He’d found out where Will lived and then he’d taken his sweet time coming to pick him up in the morning.  
   
"You remember my name,” he purred, “good."  Nigel pushed off from the car that could have paid Will's four years of tuition five times over and approached the stairs his Will had frozen on.  "You ran off last night before finishing your drink."   
   
Each step was taken with the leisurely stride of a cat, calm but powerful, interested...prowling.  
   
Will’s thoughts turned toward running, he could still sprint back to his apartment.  He was only half-way down the stairs, he could throw his bag at Nigel and buy himself a head start.  But what about when he reached the door?  If last night was anything to go buy, his hands would be shaking so hard he was more likely to drop the damn key then cram it in the lock in time.  He wouldn't have the door handle turned before Nigel caught up to him, drug him away from the apartment and back toward his car.  
   
Or, followed Will inside.  
   
Beverley was in there, curled up in a pile of blankets on his bed trying to sleep away exhaustion.  If he let Nigel in…he couldn't do that to her.  "You followed me home for a drink?"   
   
Will was chewing his lip, a nervous habit Nigel hoped he never dropped.  He liked the look of pink flesh caught between his teeth, it made him wonder if maybe he’d bite his lip in pleasure too.  He wet his lips at the thought, such a bounty awaited him.  "One drink,” Nigel said lifting a finger before letting his hand fall away, “that was the deal darling."  He put one arm on the railing and effectively blocked Will’s escape.  It was all done so nonchalantly, seemingly so innocent in his movements, but Nigel knew exactly what he was doing, a power play to keep the odds in his favor. He narrowed Will’s choices to two: he could either come down those stairs and face Nigel like a good boy, have a fucking conversation like he was supposed to last night, or he could follow through on what he was considering right now...and run   
   
Will’s weight shifted from one foot to the other, muscles wound tight, ready to spring into a sprint, his hand gripping the strap on his bag a little tighter.  He looked very close to making a very, very stupid decision.  
   
If he ran, Nigel would catch him.   
   
Everyone knows you don't run from a predator.  But Will, gorgeous clever Will, he had long shapely legs Nigel wished he could get a far better look at. They would be lithe and strong; had to be to have carried him so far from the bar without a break.  It was a shame he kept them covered in baggy jeans.  Those legs, he rationalized, might even make it three steps before Nigel was on him.  Will looked as though he gained muscle tone from all of the walking he did, while Nigel's hard muscle was the result of hours spent honing his body at the gym.  If Will wanted to play that way, Nigel could. He didn’t want to, but he would if Will made the choice for him.  
   
Nigel could be very nice when he wanted to be, the perfect fucking gentleman...when he wanted to be.  
   
Will had already ran out on him once, and now he wasn't in a very generous mood.  
   
"But now you owe interest on that debt," Nigel teased, letting his head loll to the side, enjoying the warmth of sun on his skin and crisp morning air in his lungs.  He tainted that air with another puff of tobacco smoke, and flicked the butt of his cigarette to land on the asphalt. "Now, you owe me dinner."  
   
Will's grip was white knuckled on the strap of his bag. His books were heavy, but he could still swing it to try and knock him out if he really had to. "I don't want to have dinner with you."  
   
So bold, Nigel mused, but he supposed that was part of why he liked him so much, "You already agreed."  
   
"Not to dinner."  Will countered.  
  
So petulant; it made him smile. "I didn't have to let you play darling, and certainly didn't have to stop Elek from drawing a new smile on that pretty face of yours.  You owe me."  
   
Will tried to hide the fear that washed over him like a tidal wave. "I owe you a drink."  
   
"Which you fucking ran out on, now you owe me more, dinner.  I'll pick you up after school."  His smile grew, wide and predatory. "Unless you’ve got something better to do?"  
   
Which was quite possibly a threat to that ‘something better’ Will had to do. He'd call in sick for the Coffee Shack.  He had enough money to take the hit and would much rather lose a night's pay than lose his job because Nigel decided to drop in for a visit.  “Alright, dinner, I’ll see you after class.”  But Will knew it wouldn’t be that easy. When his apprehensive steps brought him to the bottom of the stairs, his instincts were proven right, Nigel still blocking his way. “I can’t meet you after school if you don’t let me go to class.”  
   
“You can go,” Nigel assured, “I’ll give you a ride.”  
   
He didn’t like that.  “No, I’m fine with the bus.”  
   
“Darling,” he soothed, “you’re making this very simple conversation into something unpleasant, it doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”  
   
“You’re making it unpleasant for me.”  
   
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Nigel coaxed. They were nearly the same height, Nigel standing a mere few inches taller than Will. He was certainly broader, more hard muscle on his frame than Will had on his more slender physique. It made Nigel appear more imposing, with a casual demeanor of contained violence. Even while looking up to Will on the stairs above, he emanated power.  “I want to share something pleasant with you.  Let’s not turn it into something it’s not.”  
   
“I’m not turning it into anything,” he said, swallowing back what felt like his heart in his throat.  “Did you just threaten me?”  
   
A crooked, toothy smile and a laugh was his immediate answer, but the mirth did nothing to ease his fears.  “I haven’t threatened you darling. I don’t threaten.  I ask-” _I demand_ , Nigel thought, “and then I act. No threats.”  He shouldn't have to give them.  With Nigel, you did as you were told, when you were told, and you did it without question... or you died.  It was that simple.  
   
Will steered the conversation toward another question that needed an answer: “How did you find me?”  
   
“I’ll tell you when you get in the car.”  
   
When, Will noted, not if.  
   
“Tell me now and maybe I’ll get in the car.”  
   
Oh he liked Will. Will knew how to play him, which buttons he could press and which to avoid.  He feared Nigel in a way that was both healthy and smart, and back-talked just enough to keep himself interesting. It also kept him in more danger than simple obedience would have. “Promise?" Nigel asked.  
   
“I promise to consider it.”  
   
“I didn’t follow you home darling, didn’t even follow you out of the bar.”  He watched blue grey eyes that refused to meet his own as this information was processed, dark brows knitting.  “Someone told me where you live.”  
   
Those lovely eyes finally met his and Nigel wanted to kiss him, hard and consuming.  
   
“You went to my school.”  
   
“I did.”  
   
“Administration wouldn’t give you my home address.”  
   
Nigel pulled a soft pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slipped a fresh stick of cancer between his lips, lighting the tip with an orange flick of flame from his zippo.  “They didn’t,” he agreed, “but your school has a blogger and the bitch running it doesn’t like you very much.  I found her on campus and she told me where to find you.”  
   
Freddy Fucking Lounds, he’d kill her.  
   
“How much did she charge you?”  
   
Nigel took a draw from his cigarette and tilted his head toward his dodge. He was done playing games. “Get in the car.”  
   
Will could only see two possible options:  He could either obey this man or be followed back into his home.  He desperately wanted a third choice on the matter, one that let him call the police before he got himself and Bev turned into another statistic.   “Are you going to kill me?”  
   
Rough features softened into something Will hadn’t expected, and the hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers cupped his cheek in gentle caress. “Never.”  It was said with such gentleness that it made his skin crawl.  
   
“Rape me?”  he ventured, throat tight as the hand drifted lower, first settling on his hip, then slipping around his waist to the small of his back.  Nigel stepped aside, leading the gorgeous, timid creature in his grasp toward the waiting car.  
   
“I don’t rape darling, I won’t force myself on you like that.  I won’t drug you, or kill you.”  He took a drag from his smoke and popped open the door, waiting for Will to make his final decision to join him, or be hunted by him.  
   
He made the right choice.  
   
Will bit his lip, slipping his book bag off his shoulder as he slid into the seat, this was probably –if not definitely – more dangerous than the poker game and fucking drink he’d ran out on, but it was either this or risking Bev. As terrifying as Nigel was, Will believed him. The man, from what he could tell, wasn’t going to hurt him, at least not physically, and not right now.  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t kidnap his ass and keep him locked in a basement for six months, Stockholm setting in and Will brainwashed into crawling for his attention.  
   
Nigel shut the door once Will was tucked safely inside and made his way around toward the driver's side.  Nigel had half expected he'd need to volt over the hood.  He glided his hand over the polished surface, as if in appreciation for the cool metal beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t appreciation, it was preparation.  Hand already on the car’s face, he could hurtle the vehicle that much faster and grab his darling if he tried to run.  
   
“What time do your classes get out?”  Nigel asked, starting the car to hear the engine purr.  He loved his car, this car.  He had others, ones he drove more frequently when he didn’t care about making an impression, when he cared more about staying discrete.  
   
“Three.”  Will didn’t lie, there’d be no point.  Nigel would come to his house if he did.  He might even spend the day waiting for him outside the school, driving circles around the block and watching for Will in case he decided to skip a class and run for home early, try to avoid the man entirely.  Will didn’t want to make things worse than they already were.  
   
He would join Nigel for dinner.  One dinner, then he would go home and terminate his lease.  He’d find a new apartment or finish his term living in the janitor's closet at the school.  But there was no way he would be able to go home after this, not go home and feel safe.  
   
“I’ll pick you up at three.”  Nigel drove out of the apartment's lot and for once in his life followed the American rules of the road.  Not because he cared any more than usual for safety and the law, but because following the posted speed limit would allow him to keep the gorgeous man in the passenger seat a little while longer.  
   
“If you tell me where we’re going tonight, I can meet you there after school,” Will offered. He didn’t like the idea of Nigel showing up at his school, picking him up in his flashy car and drawing unwanted attention to Will where none was desired.  
   
Nigel glanced at the nervous student. “You already ran out on me once darling.  I’ll pick you up.”  With only half his attention on the road he grabbed a coffee from the holder and handed it to Will.  “I picked you up a coffee.”   
   
Will looked at the steaming cup held between rough fingertips and tried not to imagine what they would feel like pressed inside him.  His mind, despite what he wanted, always seemed to work against him. It brought to life the nightmares he saw in the footage brought to class, and the stories he read in the newspaper.  It also aided his misfortune here and now, giving him the ghosting feeling of hands running down his stomach to cup his swelling cock.  He took the cup, if only to free Nigel's hand and let him return his attention to the stick shift before the man got them killed.  
   
“Thanks,” he said, but didn’t drink it, he didn’t trust it.  
   
Nigel ignored Will’s apprehension towards his beverage and reached over him, popping the glove compartment and shoving a 9mm out of the way that had Will’s blood pumping faster than any caffeine. His hand grabbed a grease-stained brown paper bag, which he dropped into Will’s lap. “Figured you’d be hungry,” he said, closing the compartment.  
   
Will tried to calm his hammering heart as he turned his attention from the weapon to the bag, “Why’d you think I’d be hungry?  I could have eaten before leaving.”  
   
“Too skinny, your clothes don’t fit right.  Given your gambling last night, the risks you were taking, you’re tight on cash” Nigel explained, taking a turn too tight for Will’s comfort. “The easiest thing to fuck around with when you need money is food.”  
   
Will opened the bag and almost smiled at the familiar street food.  He hadn’t had calas in nearly a year.  They were still warm in the bag, with grease marks forming on the paper... but he wasn’t going to eat the little pastries either, despite the heady aroma and his watering mouth.  “Thanks, but I’m not hung-”  
   
“Of course you’re not.”  Nigel reached into the bag, digging a small puffy pastry out for himself to eat as he drove. “You just spent the whole night running and look half starved, possibly even a little hung over.”  He smirked, casting a sideways look to Will, “And you’re terrified that I’m going to rape, kill or kidnap you.  You’re smart, have good survival instincts.  Wait for another animal to test the berries before you eat them.”  He poked the bag with a powder sugar coated finger. “Eat the damn pastry before you go into hypoglycemic shock or lose another pants size.”  
   
Will worked a fluffy pastry from the bag and tried not to think about what could possibly be hidden within its deep-fried dough as he bit into it. It was sweet, light, greasy and everything he’d hoped it would be.  “They’re good.  Thank you.”  
   
Nigel hummed, content, wiping sticky fingers on his jeans before reaching for Will’s coffee to take a burning swallow and offer it back.  “Are you going to make me try everything I offer you?”  
   
Will shrugged. “Probably.” Satisfied that the beverage offered wasn’t stuffed full of roofies, he tasted the coffee himself and made a face. “Sorry,” he managed, depositing the cup in a holder and deciding it was best left abandoned there.  “I don’t take cream in my coffee, just lots and lots of sugar.”  
   
“Good to know.” They pulled into the school parking lot and Will had never felt so grateful to be on campus.  He couldn’t open the door fast enough, taking the paper bag of pastry with him as he hurried out of the car.  
   
“Will?” He paused when the deep voice called after him, slowly looking back to the man who leaned leisurely against the seat with a smile on his face. “I’ll be at Hoshun’s from twelve to two.”  
   
Will frowned, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as he tried to think of any reason why Nigel would tell him his day plans.  “Why are you telling me this?”  
   
His smile widened, honey eyes gleaming, “So you know where to send the cops when you call.”  He gave Will a wink that almost made him drop his bag.  “I’ll see you at three William, don’t be late.”  
   
OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are surfing on the roof of Nigel's car, your comments are looking over Hoshun's menu and hoping Nigel will pay.


	4. Nigel Lascăr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will learns a little more about _who_ Nigel is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been receiving amazing support from so many of you who have decided to read this story, thank you so very, very much!!! Your beautiful encouraging comments and lovely kudos have made me so excited and compelled to write this story as quickly as I have been, thank you! 
> 
> I know I'm late responding to comments on the previous chapter but life has left me busy and what little time I've found I've spent writing fiction instead of responding to readers, so though late I promise I will get back to you all shortly~<3
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MILKY WAY!!!
> 
> And of course thank you so, so much diedofennui for proofing my story, you've done an incredible job as always~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Not Beta Read.

Hoshun was an Asian food restaurant specializing in Chinese, Japanese and Vietnamese cuisine on St. Charles Ave.  The food was some of Nigel’s favorite and the atmosphere was nice enough to tempt potential customers; elegant, but still casual, not over the top.   
   
He smiled wide and welcoming as he took a sip of sake, it wasn’t his favorite, not even close, but it’s what the client had wanted and he was trying to make a good fucking impression on the woman whose money he wanted lining his pockets.  They sat at a round table in a small room in the back, all present dressed for business in suit and tie.  
   
Everyone but Nigel, he was still wearing his red roses on white and jeans.  He didn’t need to wear a fucking suit to make a business transaction, she’d take the offer so long as he could radiate enough charm and tact to keep her interested.   
   
That and he hated ties.  The only advantage to wearing a fucking tie is that you can strip it off and choke to death the guy chewing so loudly one seat over.  
   
Or, tie a certain someone’s wrists behind his back. Behind his back or above his head to a bed post...slim body shifting over satin sheets as brilliant blue grey storms, drowning in lust and fear, gaze at Nigel looming above him. It was a pleasant enough thought to have Nigel glancing at the clock.   
   
“That is the third time I’ve seen you check the time, is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”  His client, tall and shapely, but entirely too old for Nigel’s tastes, was giving him a look.  Her name was something-or-other Komeda, first name didn’t matter.  She liked to be called by her surname and he’d give the broad what she wanted until business was squared away.  But that didn’t mean his mind wouldn’t wander to the memory of lean hips beneath his palm.  Will was a plague upon his mind, one he was willing to suffer eternally.  
   
“I was expecting another arrival,” Nigel clarified, “they’re late.”  He lifted his hand to summon their waiter and ordered another bottle of sake, the meeting was going too well to have it end early on account of his wandering mind.  Nigel had been there for over an hour and the cops still hadn’t come;  he’d expected them to be there waiting for him upon arrival. That meant Will hadn’t called. He smiled at the thought. Will either suspected Nigel had some reason for daring him to do it, or he was more interested in Nigel than he'd let on.   
   
Both worked for him.   
   
Komeda dismissed his rudeness with another drink of sake and a nod to the waiter delivering the fresh bottle.  “I hope they are not anyone necessary to the meeting?”  She offered him a look and Nigel could have laughed. As if he’d try to double cross her; that would shut down the more profitable portion of his business. He couldn’t have that.  
   
“No one essential.”  
   
“Good, then where were we?”  She slipped the conversation back to French, her accent more crisp than Nigel’s.  He did more business in Chinese, Romanian, English and German.  French had been more of a hobby for him than something he’d learned for the business.  “How can you guarantee the safety of my shipment?”  
   
“It’s my policy,”  he explained, "either your goods make it to the other side or I refund you the cost of the shipping and potential sale of the product.”  He leaned over the table, pouring the woman another drink. “You’ve no need to worry about taking a hit, and I’ve never lost a shipment, never had a mishap.  Not on my boats.”  That was a lie.  He’d had one close call with an undercover fed.  Lucky for Nigel, he'd had his fingers in all the pies. Everyone had a price and he’d found a guy willing to sell out his partner for early retirement.   
   
The poor bastard who’d walked onto his ship thinking he’d be walking back off was decomposing in a cargo container at the bottom of the Pacific.  He’d been nice, he’d given the poor fuck a flashlight and two days worth of rations before sealing up the box and kicking it overboard.  He doubted the ungrateful fuck even bothered to eat the rations.  He was probably too worried about all the water pouring in around his ankles.   
   
Interesting fact about cargo containers, the full ones are more likely to float.  Empty ones have more space for water to slip between the cracks, fill it up and sink it.  
   
“This guarantee is because you run a strict business?”   
   
“It’s because I own it all.” He leaned back in his seat, comfortably full and needing a cigarette, “I own the ships, the plans, the containers, the docks and the fucking landing pads.”  This earned an impressed look from his soon-to-be client. That always won them over. If the promise of money regardless of delivery didn't do it, than the explanation of just how far his reach stretched, would.  “I send everything overseas from furniture for Ikea and medicine for hospitals, to heroin, marijuana and scopolamine for my more illicit clientele.”  
   
She was smiling, painted mouth pulled into something genuine, she felt like she was winning a horse race putting her money on Nigel. “And you’ve never lost a shipment?”  
   
“Not a one, you send your drugs through me and they’ll make the voyage every time.”  
   
“Your cost is steep, but the guarantee is promising and you came with a high recommendation.”  She took another drink of sake and rose from her seat, extending an elegant hand to the monster across from her. “We have a deal.  I’ll wire you the money this afternoon and send one of my women with the shipment and paperwork to your warehouse in the morning.”  
   
“Sounds perfect,” he said, glancing around the table. Half the faces he knew and half he didn’t,  three of his men and three of hers playing guard dog for the two leaders having lunch and talking the drug trade.  It was dangerous and deadly and not nearly the kind of excitement he needed to get his blood pumping, but it would have to do, at least until three.  
   
OoOoO  
   
Will wished the morning would drag but the minutes passed like seconds and he found he could do little more than wish for time to stop.   
   
He’d attended all of his classes per usual, sitting among his peers with a pen in his hand and paper on his desk, but that was where his routine stopped.  He hadn’t taken a single note all day, barely hearing the words of his instructors as they prattled on, Will's body present while his mind was elsewhere.  
   
He couldn’t even focus on the board, his sight drifting to the clock on the far wall until he stopped trying to look away and watched as the minutes slipped by.  There was no distracting his mind, not today, not with lectures or corpses or thoughts of making ends meet.  He was consumed by the knowledge of what awaited him, an image of Nigel lounging against the leather interior of his Viper, waiting for Will with a cigarette and a lecherous smile curling his lips. I was as vivid in his mind as if the man was before him now.   
   
It made his stomach churn.   
   
Nigel had whispered with such sincerity that he wasn’t going to kill him, kidnap him or rape him; but he wasn't going to leave Will alone either, and Will didn’t know where that left him.  
   
It was just after one when his stomach gave up on keeping his lunch down and he was forced to kiss porcelain between classes.   
   
Stomach still roiling with nothing left to bring up, he rinsed his mouth with tap water, splashing cold handfuls against his face and trying to think of some reason why he shouldn’t call the police...a reason other than 'because Nigel had told him to.'  
   
He couldn’t think of one.   
   
Every rational fiber of his being was screaming for him to call the cops and save himself the harassment while his gut warned against it. I was like the instinct of a rat not to eat the poison set in a trap.  “It could be a bluff?” Will reasoned with his reflection. It looked as convinced as he felt. “He could be telling me where to find him just to spook me out of calling the cops,”  he explained to the mirror, his reflection looking sick and dubious.  If that was Nigel's tactic it was working like a fucking charm.  Will hadn’t called anyone, told anyone, and the time for making that call was slipping away like sand in an hourglass.   
   
If Will was being honest with himself, he would admit that he's too afraid to make any move that doesn’t entail him obediently walking out of the school and climbing into the car with a psychopath.  
   
Nigel knows where he lives and where he goes to school. Nigel knows Will wanted to call the police.  Either it was a bluff, a good one, or Will would be fucked seven ways to Sunday as soon as he pressed dial.   
   
All thanks to Freddy Fucking Lounds.   
   
He ground his teeth at the thought of Bev’s roommate.  She’d sold him out to a stalker for her own selfish gain and now there was a good chance Will would be forced to drop out of school, change his fucking name, and disappear into protective custody.  “Selfish bitch,”  he cursed under his breath, scrubbing his face dry with a piece of scratchy brown paper-towel he tossed into the bin on his way out.  He needed to find Freddy,  and they needed to have a talk, whether she wanted one or not.   
   
Stepping out into the hallway, it turned out he didn’t have to go far.  She was waiting for him outside his next class, leaning against the wall with a notebook under her arm and her smart phone in hand.  
   
He could almost see her updating her blog, adding whatever little tidbit she could thanks to Nigel, continuing to cast Will as a dangerous psychopath. What in the world did this woman have against him?  He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms and knuckles turning white as he tried to decide if he'd like to refrain from breaking her nose.  
   
“How do you know Nigel Lascăr?”  she asked. Will was still debating the pros and cons of getting himself expelled over driving her teeth down her throat as he approached.  It was definitely more appealing than talking to the heartless bitch. But Freddy had  just given him a surname he hadn't known, and that was more information on the man following him than he’d had earlier.   
   
“What?” he asked.  
   
“This morning I went to go for my morning jog and before I could make it three feet off the campus I was intercepted by Nigel Lascăr looking for you.”  She accentuated the name as if it should mean something to Will. “I want to know how you know him.”  
   
Will wet his lip, biting the flesh as he decided not to knock her teeth out and talk to her instead.  “Nigel Lascăr?”  He prompted.  
   
Green eyes narrowed and painted lips pursed.  “You don’t know who he is, do you?”  
   
“Not a clue.”  
   
“But you met him.”  
   
“I met a Nigel,”  he confirmed because this conversation was going somewhere and he wanted to know where.   
   
She gave him a knowing look and turned her phone around, showing him a picture of the man he’d spent last evening in fear of. He was smiling at him from the small screen, and Will almost didn’t recognize him with his hair slicked, dressed sleekly in a two piece suit.  “This is Nigel Lascăr,”  she said rapid fire, “You know him.  I want to know how.”  
   
Will almost laughed with disbelief. He never would have imagined the man in the photo, a glass of champagne in one hand and a woman dressed to the nines on his arm, was the same thug stalking him from a dingy bar.  “I’m not telling you anything,”  he said at last, “whatever I say you’re only going to post it on your fucking blog. Raise your ad sales by ruining someone else's life for a change.”  
   
“You don’t know who Lascăr is,”  she tried to tempt, “I do.  I can help you, if you’ll let me.”  
   
Will narrowed his eyes and reconsidered his decision to let her keep her teeth.  “You’ve already fucked me over enough telling him where I live.  What the hell did he give you?  Fifty dollars?  A hundred?  Stay away from me.”  He turned from her, trying in vain to temper his anger as he stormed down the hall toward the college library.  He could use a computer just as well as she could.  Google was a wonderful thing.  
   
“He’s contacted me once already Will.”  She warning haughty, “I can make this a whole lot worse for you too.”  That made him stop, body gone ridged as yet another threat was laid before him. Freddie threatened everything he had worked so hard to obtain.  
   
Life hadn’t been easy for Will growing up.  A poor fishermen’s son, moving from one port to another, dressed in whatever clothes they could afford from the local second-hand shop. It had made for a lonely childhood, household moves too frequent for the awkward boy to forge any true friendships amongst his peers.  Will had quickly learned it was easier to be alone.  
   
Graduation had brought with it the blessing of freedom from his schoolmates, but resulted the crushing monotony of a fishing job he’d never wanted.  Continued education hadn’t been an option for Will, they hadn’t had the money for application fees, much less tuition.  It had been one more disappointment to add to his short life, one that he’d accepted as he had all the others before it.   
   
He joined his father on the boat and worked harder than he ever had before. Casting nets and gutting fish on the open water under beating sun and pouring rain alike, Will saved as much as he could afford from each take of fish.  It would mean starting later in life, beginning his education in his twenties or thirties instead of his teens, but Will would find a way to save the funds needed to put himself through school if it meant whoring himself out to the devil.  
   
Then six months after graduation, Will's father had a heart attack on the boat.   
   
Will spent nearly an hour working to resuscitate him, giving the man CPR until his arms were numb and shoulders aching. Sweat dripping from his forehead like rain, his throat raw from screaming; it was only when he fell, unable to cry anymore for aid, unable to pump a dead man’s heart, that Will collapsed to his side and finally accepted his father’s death.  
   
It was worst day of his life.  The doctor had told him there was nothing more he could have done while at sea, but Will hadn’t believed him, still didn’t.  A lot can be done for a person if you can keep the heart going, keep blood moving to the brain and air circulating.  A defibrillator could have been used to shock the heart, valves could have been used to open the arteries, and even transplants are available for people who can afford them. Will would have worked three jobs every day for the rest of his life if that had been an option,  but he hadn’t been able to move.  He’d lain there, sun baking his skin for forty minutes before he finally managed to push himself up on rubber arms and find his way to the back of the boat, starting the motor and bringing them to shore.  They didn’t have a phone, and he’d had to ask a neighboring boat call an ambulance.  
   
If another boat had sailed by that day, things could have been different.  
   
There were still nights he woke up with an ache burning through his arms and the feel of salt water beneath his hands.  It was a memory he doubted would ever fade.  
   
But for as poor as they’d been, as often as he’d gone to bed hungry or walked to school in rags, his father had left him something in the end.   
   
He’d taken out a life insurance policy, one that left Will with enough money after the burial to pay for his first semester of university.  It was enough to push him beyond the life of a poor fisherman’s son and into a brighter future.  He’d taken it and ran.   
   
After that he’d had hope of a fresh start, of finally fitting in with his peers now that he was as new to his surroundings as the rest of the students coming in as freshman.  Instead, his first year was when Will had finally realized there was something different about him beyond being a kid made shy and awkward by too many relocations, beyond underdeveloped social skills.   
   
He wasn’t just socially awkward, he was different.  After waking up his roommate with a string of night terrors after a slide show of a corpse presented in class, a nightmare of murder his mind had decided to relive for him, Will was diagnosed with an empathy disorder.  
   
Three months into his first year he’d moved himself out of the dorms and into the apartment he had now.  But by then it was too late, the damage had been done.  Rumors of his freak-like abilities had already begun to circle the school.  His chance to be normal snatched away thanks to a roommate who’d thought him nuts.  
   
Then came along Freddy Fucking Lounds, she took the emotional receptacle that was Will’s mind and made it into a freak show.  Somehow the bitch had gotten her hands on one of his papers, paired with the rumor of his gift and a few chosen quotes, he was ruined.    
   
‘Sees Like A Killer, Thinks Like a Killer, Could Be a Killer?’  
   
She’d nearly been expelled for the blog and been forced to take down the article, offer a public apology, but the damage had been done.  
   
She’d ruined his social life at school – apart from Bev – and now sold him out to a fucking stalker.  She was threatening Will's chance at the education his father's passing had made possible.  
   
Slowly Will turned, voice flat and eyes dangerous, “Threaten me again, and you’ll be the one looking over your shoulder while someone follows you home.”   
   
Nigel might not hurt him, but Will was willing to bet that he’d hurt for him.   
   
Leaving Freddy to think about her options and future well-being, Will skipped his last class and went to the library.  He had little more than an hour before his meeting with Nigel,  and he didn’t want to waste a minute of it.  
   
Will logged onto the first available computer he could find and punched Nigel Lascăr into Google.   
   
Nigel, Will learned, was a giant in the shipping industry.   
   
He owned a successful company he’d inherited after the death of its original owner, Brandon Brown, a man who’d had no known relations, leaving Nigel his entire fortune.    
   
Despite the suspicion of foul play, nothing had ever been proven.  Nigel had graciously accepted the man’s wealth and industry and continued to build up the company fortunes.   
   
“What the hell have I gotten myself into...” Will wondered as he stared in disbelief at a picture of the man from nearly a decade ago.  Whatever Nigel had done, he’d done it far enough in the past that most people had forgotten about or dismissed it, and he’d gotten away with it scot-free.    
   
If there was any lesson to be gleaned from the old article, it was that Nigel was the sort of man who got what he wanted. He wasn’t someone you wanted to piss off and he certainly wasn’t the kind of man you want narrowing his sights on you.  
   
A glance at the time and Will was cursing again, logging out of the computer and grabbing his bag as he all but ran for the doors.  He was late, and suddenly the innocuous warning about tardiness rang like a death sentence in his mind.  He couldn’t risk the man barging into his school looking for him, or even worse going to his fucking house and breaking down the door.  
   
Nearly running into the parking lot, he was drowning in the ridiculous fear of missing his stalker, searching the river of cars for something too expensive to belong.  He felt some modicum of relief when he spotted the sports car in question parked across the street, Nigel waiting for him patiently with a cigarette pinched between his fingers and his arms crossed on the hood.  
   
There was no going back.  No second chance to make the phone call he should have called Nigel's bluff on, and certainly no running home to pack a bag and get the fuck out of town.  He’d made a mistake.  
   
Every step was bringing him closer to the man who had possibly – no definitely – murdered his way to the top, each footfall bringing him a little closer to death.  The smile the greeted him when he took the door handle in hand was a noose slipping over his head and the seatbelt he fastened over his waist was the knot tightened in a chokehold.  
   
Nigel looked at him like a lover as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, and Will realized with growing horror that it was not a noose he felt slip around his throat...  
   
It was a leash.  
   
OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are firing spit balls at Freddy from behind a trash can, your comments are loading into the car for date stalking~<3


	5. Lets Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Will have a dinner date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings~<3 This chapter is much later going up than I'd intended but I'm afraid 'life' happened and made me late. Sorry. 
> 
> I seem to be leaving these thank you notes in the beginning of every chapter lately but that's only because I honestly can't express how much your kudos and comments mean to me, to all writers really. We all greatly appreciate hearing from you, know that even if they're not responded to (though I will always try) right away, they're read and loved and give great encouragement to those of us working hard to write these stories for you. 
> 
> So once again, thank you, everyone who has taken the time to read, kudo and comment. It keeps me writing and loving what I do~<3
> 
> I own nothing. 
> 
> Beta read by the beautiful diedofennui, I cannot thank you enough for all the little tweaks and changes you add to this story to smooth it out and make my writing that much better. You're amazing darling, thank you~<3

The Viper pulled into a parallel park on the far end of Bourbon Street, wheels nearly kissing the curb.  Will had to fight the urge to throw himself from the vehicle. He was almost positive he’d dreamt that morning’s leisurely drive because Nigel was a terror on the road.  He had no idea how the man had managed to get his American license, wouldn’t be surprised if he never had. If Nigel did possess a driver’s license, it must have been the result of some heavy bribery because he seemed to have forgotten the purpose of a fucking stop sign.  
   
“Problem darling?”  Nigel smiled like the gentleman he wasn’t and strolled around the car to the gorgeous creature who’d all but scrambled from his car.  Will looked a touch paler than he had before they’d begun their drive, but not so pale that Nigel was concerned.  He caught the younger man’s hand before Will could hide it in the pocket of his old jeans and intertwined their fingers, palm to palm.  
   
It wouldn’t do to have Will getting the wrong impression, that this was anything less than what Nigel intended it to be.  
   
 He locked the flashy car with the press of a button on his key ring and began down the colorful strip of yellow, white and red brick buildings toward the restaurant.  It was a ways up the street, but the walk would be pleasant and parking was a bitch to find closer to the restaurant.  
   
“You can’t drive,” Will said looking at the calloused hand that held his own, tugging him along until he fell into stride with the madman.  He wasn’t sure if it was meant as a romantic gesture or a means of preventing him from going for a run.  “You broke at least half a dozen laws driving here.”  He still wasn’t sure how they’d made it to Bourbon Street from Press Drive in twelve minutes without being pulled over or killed, but Nigel had handled the roads and turns with a confidence that spoke of practice, lots and lots of practice – probably in street racing.  
   
Nigel laughed as if Will’s concerns for his own continued health and safety were a joke.  They weren’t.  “I’ll drive slower on the way home,” he promised, giving the slack hand a gentle squeeze.  Will wasn’t holding his hand in return…a disappointment.  
   
Will snorted a laugh; he knew Nigel’s consideration had more to do with his desire to keep Will in his sights, and less to do with Will’s opinion on the matter.  “Where are we going?”  Will changed the subject, he didn’t want confirmation on what he already suspected was Nigel’s motivation, it would only make it that much more terrifying.  
   
“We’re almost there darling,” Nigel assured, pulling him closer to release the hand that refused to hold his own in favor of wrapping an arm around his waist. He settled his hand on Will’s slender hip.  It felt right there, the sharp contour of bone beneath his palm, fingers following the curve and pull of movement, muscles shifting beneath denim and skin.  
   
Nigel would feel that hip beneath his hand as skin on skin soon enough, he was sure of it.  The more he thought of Will, saw him, smelt him, felt the heat of his body against his own, the more he fucking wanted Will beneath him, spread and needy.  
   
He liked that image, mouth slack in a gasp of ecstasy and body rigid in a spasm of pleasure as Nigel brought him to his edge and pushed him, made him cum again and again.  Will Graham was a drug and Nigel was very quickly becoming his addict, needing a bigger hit every time they met.  
   
Will jerked to a stop when they reached the elegant white-walled building that was their destination.  Nigel turned to take in his wide-eyed look, the expression of mild horror on his face as he looked through the large paned glass on the front of what could only be a five-star restaurant. Something Will could never afford. “I can’t go in there.”  He jerked in the man’s grasp and found there was no escaping. Nigel had a thumb hooked through the belt loop of Will’s jeans, fingertips digging into his hip hard enough to bruise, keeping Will still and unable to run.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  
   
“You don’t like French?” Nigel asked, ignoring the couple dressed in suit and tie that walked past them into the restaurant.  This wasn’t a place meant for Will, not in his work jeans and old sweater.  The bottom of his pants were dirty and torn, the color of his shirt more than a little faded from too many washes and too many years.  
   
He looked at Nigel with distress and lifted his chin toward the affluent people inside, “I’m not dressed for a place like this, never mind that I can’t afford it.”  
   
Nigel thought this was pretty cute, his darling thinking for even a moment that he would allow him to pay for anything while they were out together.  Will was smart. He should have known better, did know better, he was still trying to deny what it was that was happening between them.  “You don’t worry about money when you’re with me,” Nigel told him, pulling open the door to push him inside.  Will almost seemed to shrink in on himself as he entered the overwhelming front doors, trying and failing to disappear.  
   
It made Nigel want to hunt down the poor fuck responsible for Will’s low self-esteem and strangle them with their own entrails.  
   
“When I’m with you?” Will swallowed down the lump growing in his throat. “The deal was one drink, which turned into one dinner.”  He felt his anxiety rising and his stomach give another threatening turn.  “We share one meal and we’re done,” he argued just as they were met by a waiter. The man cast a quick dismissive look to Will, ready to turn him away, than set eyes on Nigel and smiled.  
   
“Good evening Mr. Lascăr, the corner table as usual.” He picked up two menus to usher the pair into the restaurant.  They were turning heads as they walked, people glancing up from their meals to look at the ill-dressed pair who’d invaded their finery.  
   
Nigel followed behind Will, keeping close, just enough distance not to crowd, but also preventing him from bolting as they were led to a back corner table. Will was forced to take the chair tucked into a corner, no escape possible.  
   
Nigel was adamant not to let Will run this time.  He’d nearly lost the gorgeous man once already; he wasn’t about to do it again.  Blocking him in, keeping him cornered, seemed to be the perfect way to do that.  Will felt the collar around his neck tighten another notch, the leash begin to pull.  Nigel was keeping him close.  
   
He took the seat across from Will at the small, linen-covered table and gave a nod to their waiter who handed them menus and stepped away.  “We’ll see,” Nigel smiled, and it was all teeth. Will felt his heart in his throat.  
   
He’d hoped to stop things before they went too far and he found himself too deep.  Apparently, that would have been at the bar before he’d forced his way into a bet at the table.  “I’m into girls!”  Will blurted, earning a look from rich honey eyes.  
   
“Are you?”  
   
Nigel wasn’t buying it, and Will wasn’t sure what he had to say to make his bluff sound believable.  Bev came over to his place a lot, shared his bed often enough most would assume they were dating… until she tossed in the Fast and the Furious and they discussed which, if any, of the muscle men were most attractive.  
   
“I have a girlfriend,” he tried again.  
   
Nigel ran his tongue along his teeth and laughed, “You’re better at playing cards then you are at lying,” he said.  His business ran on deals and bargains made with liars, he could read a man as easily as he could read the headline on a newspaper. And when it came to deceit, Will was shit.  Nigel might not know exactly what someone was thinking, but he knew when someone was trying to undermine or lie to him.  
   
Will worried the soft flesh of his lip as he opened his menu and tried not to feel overwhelmed by the atmosphere and staring patrons.  The list of prices wasn’t helping.  This wasn’t someplace he wanted to eat; it made him feel like he was being bought, a whore for sale.  
   
“Good afternoon, my name is Molly and I’ll be your server.  Can I get you anything to drink?”  The waitress smiled, offering a wine menu to Nigel who she seemed to recognize as the one in charge between them.  Or maybe it was just what they’d been trained to do thanks to frequent visits.  He had gotten them in with both of them dressed like shit.  It was another place he had sway, and it had Will curious about how far his reach stretched.  
   
Nigel opened the wine list and barely looked at it before handing it back with his menu.  He’d eaten there before, many times, he knew what he liked, “A bottle of red, Pine Ridge Cabernet Sauvignon if you have it and I’ll have the filet mignon, rare.”  
   
The waitress turned to Will and he instantly felt pressured to order. “Same,” he said without thinking.  The sooner their dinner was over the sooner he could go the fuck home, pack his stuff and leave, “medium.”  
   
Nigel smiled, “You can have anything you want darling.”  
   
“I like steak.”  He’d lost his taste for fish when he’d been on the coast working nets to pay the bills.  His desire for it had slowly been coming back to him over the past two years, but not enough for him to seek it out on a menu, and certainly not this menu.  Mimicking Nigel’s order felt safe.  
   
“Good, tell me what else you like.”  
   
Will chewed his lip as the conversation steered toward him and Nigel felt his cock stir, he desperately wanted to take this boy home and keep him there.  “Why are you so interested?” Will asked.  
   
“Why would you even think to ask that fucking question darling?”  He reached across the table, catching Will’s low-riding glasses and sliding them off his face. Nigel slipped them into his own breast pocket.  No more hiding behind frames for him, Nigel wanted to see Will’s eyes, unobstructed.  The kid didn’t really need them anyway.  “There is nothing about you that’s not attractive,” he continued.  
   
Will looked startled at the loss of his glasses, the small theft drawing stormy eyes to honey gold for a brief second before they broke the contact and Will looked instead to the flatware on the table.  So stiff, so nervous.  Nigel’s smile grew as fat-bellied glasses were set down and wine poured, the bottle left between them.  “This isn’t your first date, is it darling?”  He seriously hoped that it was.  But that would be too good to be true, surely too much for fate to grant him.  
   
Will picked up his glass, examining the deep burgundy beverage and taking a deep swallow.  Drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t the safest idea around a psychopath who obviously wanted to get down his pants, but he needed to calm his nerves and it was liquid courage or none at all.  “I told you I have a girlfriend,” he said again, debating the pros and cons of downing the glass.  
   
“And I said you were shit at lying.”  He watched Will finger his glass; he’d like to feel those hands run up his chest.  “You don’t have a girlfriend.”  
   
Will made another poor decision and downed the wine.  Nigel seemed all too happy to pick up the bottle and refill his glass.  “Why don’t you think I like girls?” Will mumbled.  
   
“Because I spoke to Freddy Lounds and she called you a fag.”  
   
Will’s eye’s widened. He really was going to kill that bitch.  “She would.”  
   
“So,” Nigel pushed the conversation along, “is this your first date?”  
   
“This is dinner, not a date.”  Will spat the words like venom and regretted them as soon as they left his mouth.  Something flashed in those honey eyes that watched him, something dangerous and bloody.  
   
He was toeing a line.  
   
“Alright,” Nigel said smooth as silk, sipping his own glass of red as he watched the tense student across from him, “but that doesn’t answer my question.  Have you been on a fucking date?”  
   
Will reminded himself he needed to keep this man happy, this very dangerous, very strong, possessive man, happy.  “No,” he admitted at last, “but not without trying.”  The few times he’d worked up the courage to ask anyone out, girl or guy, it had ended in him going home alone; he was too awkward and strange to manage a date even in high school, never mind an actual relationship.  
   
“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Nigel said with more honesty than he gave any of his clientele, “You’re gorgeous, clever, sharp,” he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of red.  “They’re hung up on your empathy and social anxiety and whatever, it costs them something good.”  
   
Will closed his eyes and tried not to feel hurt that even this psycho knew about his issues, “How do you know about the empathy?”  
   
“The bitch’s blog.” He took another sip, a deeper one and thought of how it looked so close to the color of blood.  “Something should be done about that squeaking cunt.”  He rocked the glass and watched color cling to the sides, slipping back into the pool of crimson like tears.  
   
A sudden chill ran up Will’s spin at the promise of pain, because Nigel didn’t make threats, he’d said so himself.  What was worse is that Will wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to stop him. “It’s fine, it’s just a blog.”  
   
“A blog that’s painted you crazy.  I don’t like that.”  
   
“It’s not there for you to like.  Freedom of speech and all that crap.” He downed his second glass of wine because why the hell not?  He was defending the very woman he’d wanted to punch out not much earlier.  “She’s not worth it.”  
   
“No she isn’t,” Nigel agreed, “But you are.”  
   
That spark of danger he’d caught before, that hint of something dark and deadly brewing beneath the surface wasn’t hiding anymore.  His mouth was a flat line, amusement gone and eyes sharp.  He looked ready to stroll across the room, slip his arm around the nearest patron’s neck, and snap the vertebrae in one quick turn.  
   
And all that danger was directed toward Freddy for writing a piece that insulted Will.  
   
He had already threatened to have her followed, and now it seemed that was just what was going to happen.  Followed and killed.  
   
Their entrees arrived, two beautifully plated plats du jour of prime steak, a feast of meat, greens and potatoes.  Nigel cut into his own rare piece, the knife pushing through flesh to spill sweet red juices onto the fine china plate.  Will watched the knife sink in but he didn’t see a fine cut of meat and juices, he saw blood.  
   
Pale freckled flesh, curly red hair, and blood.  
   
He had to get out.  
   
“I’m going to the washroom.”  He rose without touching his plate and felt the sway of wine on an empty stomach before gathering himself and walking on swift feet toward the only doorway he’d seen patron’s milling toward beside the entrance.  He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Nigel was watching him, he could feel the weight of his eyes on his back, making sure he wasn’t about to take a turn toward the exit and run.  
   
He didn’t, Will turned down the short hall and entered the men’s washroom.  He was drunk, knew he was drunk, felt it in his limbs and the airy feeling of his head spinning as he glanced around the room.  It was empty, thankfully, and he reached for his phone.  “Shit!” he cursed as fingers slid into the hollow of his pocket, phone gone. It must have fallen out in the car. He closed his eyes and took a breath, tried to calm his nerves.  He couldn’t change his mind and call the police, but that didn’t mean he was trapped.  Not yet.  
   
Worrying his lip in an old habit he really needed to break, he turned his attention to the rest of the room, eyes following along the wall until his gaze settled on a window.  It was small, narrow and entirely too high to reach, but it was there and that was better than nothing.  He grabbed the trashcan, flipping it upside down and looking back toward the door.  Still nothing; Nigel hadn’t followed him.  He looked at the skinny can standing nearly to his waist and thought about the near impossibility of climbing up without knocking himself out in the process.  
   
Hoisting himself onto the counter first, he stepped out onto the unsteady waste-bin to feel it rock beneath his foot and slide closer to the wall.  Best-case scenario, he’d make the step and get to the window.  Worst-case, he’d end up in Nigel’s possession, concussed and drunk. Maybe he’d get lucky and put himself in the hospital instead.  
   
He took a breath and pushed himself off the counter, skidding on the can that teetered beneath his feet before catching his fingers on the windows edge to steady his foothold.  He made it.  One step closer to escape.  Heart pounding, he tried to keep his balance on the skinny decorative cylinder as he fought to pop the window and slid it open.  He felt a wave of relief when he forced the glass to the side and looked out his tiny escape route.  It was small, a tight fit, and he would be risking falling onto his head on the other side…but he was skinny enough to force it, his malnutrition paying off for a change.  
   
Grabbing the frame, Will pushed himself off the can, feeling it fall from under his feet, clanging noisily to the ground. His fingers slipped from the frame as he tried to catch his footing on the wall and he fell backward, bracing himself for the impact of his head on tile. But mid-arc he felt himself caught by powerful arms and pulled back against a body hard with muscle, a stark contrast to the icy tile he'd expected.  
   
“You'll fall doing that,” Nigel whispered, breathe hot against his ear, dangerously quiet.  Will felt the scrape of whiskers against his throat and the press of lips soft as velvet beneath his ear, a contrast to the vice grip holding him against the man he’d tried to escape. "I'm starting to get the feeling you don't want to be here with me."  
   
Will’s heart hammered and he knew Nigel had to feel it trying to force its way through his ribcage.  "You scare me Nigel, you're too much.”  He shouldn’t have drunk the wine, not with an empty stomach, he should have had water instead. “I’m being overwhelmed."  
   
"Then fucking tell me darling, so I can mellow down."  At some point a hand had slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and he could feel the gentle rub of calloused fingers in circles against his skin.  It was more contact than he’d ever had and it was making him unbelievably aroused.  
   
Will’s face flushed in a cocktail blend of arousal, embarrassment and alcohol, he could feel the heat of it crawling down his neck.  "I don't want to be here," he said as another patron entered the washroom to see the pair with the overturned trashcan and abruptly turn to leave.  It made the heat beneath Will’s skin that much worse.  
   
"Then let's go."  
   
They left together, Nigel’s hand never leaving Will’s side as he worked his wallet from his jeans to drop a small pile of bills on the table, confirming Will’s earlier suspicions of ‘pocket change.’  They walked out the door, the young man so desperate to escape tucked under his captor’s arm.  
   
He wasn’t going anywhere but back to Nigel’s fucking car.  
   
Their exit had even more heads turning than when they had arrived, and Will found himself shrinking into the bad man by his side, the hand on his hip offering a comforting squeeze that did nothing to ease Will’s anxieties.  “I want to go home,” Will said when they stepped out into the street to begin the walk down to the car.  He didn’t really expect Nigel to consider his request.  
   
To Will’s surprise he agreed.  “I’ll take you home, but you still owe me dinner.”  And Will had the sinking suspicion that dinner would come with additional interest on his debt.  
   
“I work two jobs and go to school,” Will argued, “I can’t afford to take time off because you want to go to dinner.”  
   
“Believe me darling,” he pressed his nose into a temple covered in satin curls and kissed the shell of Will’s ear, “you can’t afford to miss dinner.”  
   
It made him shiver, “My rent-”  
   
“You won more than a grand last night sweetheart.  You can miss a couple of lousy shifts to let me pamper you.”  
   
Will moved to pull away and found himself trapped with little effort from the man holding him.  “I don’t want to be pampered,” he insisted, “I’m not interested.”  
   
“You owe me.”  
   
“Then take the money back!”  
   
Nigel stopped, laughing lightly with his hand still moving smooth along Will’s side.  “It doesn’t work that way,” he said on a sigh, grinning all teeth, “you made a deal with the devil and now there’s no going back.”  The offered smile was a contradiction in itself, gentle but warning. “I will only say this one last time and only because it’s you.  You’re making this into something unpleasant, it doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”  
   
“I don’t want this Nigel, you’re forcing it.  You said you wouldn’t.”  
   
“I said I wouldn’t rape you,” he corrected, “I wouldn’t force myself like that.”  Nigel let his hand slide from his Will’s hip and Will made the mistake of backing away.  
   
Nigel didn’t like that.  
   
“You will say ‘yes’ to me darling.  Until you do, whatever it takes, you’ll only have yourself to blame.  I asked you for a fucking drink and you ran,” he took a step closer and Will took a step back, he was imposing, radiating power. “I took you to dinner,” another step forward, another step back, Will hit a wall.  “But you just had to fuck that up too. This could have been over already, instead you keep racking up interest.”  He boxed Will in with a hand on either side of his head as he loomed over him, bringing their bodies only inches apart.  Will could see the lust in his eyes, the anger radiating behind it, he felt it pumping through his veins as readily as a hit of cocaine.  Nigel wanted him and through Nigel’s desires he felt his own mirroring back, arousal and anger and fear and desire flooding his alcohol-saturated mind and making him want to close the space between them.  
  
His empathy making it impossible to tell what was his and what was Nigel.  
   
It terrified him.  
   
“This is harassment and stalking,” Will managed with numb lips, unable to pull his sight from the honey eyes that stared him down.  
  
“Possibly molestation if you count hand-holding, certainly coercion.”  Nigel agreed, slipped a curl behind the timid man’s ear and touched his forehead to Will’s. “I want something from you, you’re going to give it to me.”  
   
Will swallowed back a whimper, “You’re not asking.”  
   
Nigel wet his lips, “I’m not.”  
   
“You don’t ask…”  
   
“No, and I don’t make threats,” he let his lingering fingers slide down the curve of a satin-fleshed cheek, “and I don’t give warnings.”  
   
He felt on the verge of a panic attack, “Or rape or kidnap…but you do kill.  You hurt people and you enjoy it.”  
   
“I won’t hurt you.” That same promise, the same soft-spoken words.  It had Will screaming on the inside for any passers-by to notice that they were not an ordinary couple making-out on the public strip, and call the fucking cops.  
   
“So then how can you force me?”  Despite the fear eating him he kept fighting back. “If I keep saying no, if I keep running away, if you won’t make me, how are you going to force a yes from me?”  
   
Nigel loved that fire.  It was a shame he would have to snuff it out.  “Don’t do this darling.  You don’t want to do this.”  
   
“You don’t care what I want.”  He was shaking, fear and adrenalin getting the better of him, he was looking a tiger in the mouth and he was waiting for it to close its maw and snap his neck in its teeth.  
   
Honey eyes narrowed, crooked teeth showing in a smile that held none of the false-grace of its predecessor.  “Alright, but you’ve brought this on yourself.”  
   
Not a warning, not a threat; Nigel didn’t make those.  He shouldn’t have to, not even for the gorgeous creature held beneath him.  
   
“Is this your newest bitch Lascăr?” Four men approached and Will wished once again that he could shrink back and disappear.  
   
Nigel slowly directed his attention to the man who’d insulted him and eased back from Will, slipping a hand comfortably around his waist to bring him closer against him.  Protection instead of possession or perhaps a bit of both, but Will recognized the defensiveness in his stance.  
   
These men were trying to pick a fight and this was Nigel keeping Will out of harm’s way.  “You best watch that cock sucking mouth when talking about my sweet fucking darling.”  
   
One of the four stepped forward, licking his lips as he gave Will a good once over. “We’ll watch his sweet fucking mouth on our sweet fucking cocks,” he offered, with a leer, “Let him choke on something bigger than his pinky for a change.”  
   
“Small dick joke?” Nigel laughed all good humor and mirth and looked from Will to the group grinning before them, tongue running along his crooked teeth.  “That’s good,” he said with a slow shake of his head, quickly kicking high enough to nail the first man in the jaw, sending him flying back with a strangled cry. The remaining trio barely had a second to register what had transpired, before Nigel landed a punch to the second, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch of bone beneath his fist.  He pivoted out of the thirds reach, clapping his ears and kneeing him in the gut before he could recover. He turned to the last remaining member of the group. "Get the fuck out of here."  
   
The man looked to his friends bleeding on the ground, disoriented by the speed of what had transpired, then had the audacity to look up at Will, the unwitting catalyst of the bloodshed.  
   
Nigel punched him in the throat for taking the half-second to look at what was his.  "You don't look at him, you hear me?” he stood over the choking man, “He's not for you to look at.  You see this man walking down the street you put your fucking eyes to the ground."  A solid kick to the ribs had him rolling over, groaning.  
   
Will took two steps back and stopped, freezing in his tracks when honey eyes turned back to fix on him.  
   
 _You brought this on yourself._  
   
Nigel returning to his darling William riding the high brought by spilling blood and breaking bones. He slipped his hand around Will’s waist again, leading them back down the strip in a casual stroll, as though he hadn’t just beaten four men to the ground in under a minute. It would have been a grave mistake for Will to run, he was glad that he hadn’t.  
   
Nigel was done being nice, because Will apparently didn’t want nice, he wanted to _play_.  
   
So Nigel would give him want he wanted.  
   
Nigel was ready to play.  
  
OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are kicking bodies groaning on the ground, your comments are munching on steak as they try to fit through a bathroom window.


	6. Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel takes Will home and Will has a mental breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for my wonderful readers, thank you all for taking the time to leave me the beautiful comments and kudos that encourage me to write. I'm glad you're all enjoying the story~<3
> 
> I own nothing
> 
> Beta read by diedofennui, thank you darling~<3 <3 <3 An incredible job as always!

“Those men,” Will began tentatively, thinking of the four bodies they’d stepped over and abandoned bleeding on the sidewalk, “who are they?”  He was shaking.  The windows were down, cool evening air spilling over him as they drove from Bourbon street toward Will’s apartment, but his shivering had nothing to do with the cold.  
   
Nigel switched gears and took the cigarette from between his lips to blow a thin stream of silver out the window. “Competitors,” he answered dryly, checking his mirrors before changing lanes.  He was annoyed. Those idiots had interrupted a very sensitive moment between him and Will, one filled with fear and promise and potential.  
   
That moment might have end with Will arching in Nigel’s bed, cool sheets the color of blood fisted in his hands.  
   
It was an opportunity missed, and one he doubted would come again.  There would be blood for that, blood he’d spill hot and slick as an oil spill over concrete.  But that blood would have to wait. There would be time for revenge after he finished with far more important matters, like his darling Will.  
   
Will Graham was a delicious project for Nigel, one that required his utmost attention; and Nigel was glad to give it. He would make this boy the center of his intense focus until he had him, even if it meant ruining his life in a river of blood.  
   
He really should stop trying to run.  
   
Will had been silent since Nigel had beaten their interlopers to the ground.  As much as Nigel had enjoyed the feel of bone crushing beneath his fist, he’d enjoyed the feel of Will tucked in close against him, warm and needy, even more.  He had been shaking after Nigel’s display… still was. Nigel suspected that had something to do with too many skipped meals and too much adrenalin. He should have just been grateful Nigel hadn’t used his gun.  
   
Then he’d really have a reason to be afraid.  
   
In truth, the decision not to wield his firearm had more to do with avoiding the public display of death than any desire to spare the cunts who’d insulted the gorgeous creature by his side. He could have sent them on their merry way to hell, would have gladly spread their grey matter over concrete if they’d been anywhere private. Death and gunfire would attract too much attention, the sort of attention even Nigel couldn’t buy his way out of.  
   
Oh, the Information Age: people and their fucking cell phones.  If it wasn’t the rumors in the news that was putting people behind bars and keeping them there, it was the social media networks and the outrage of the populace.  Nigel had learned early on in his career a single man could be bought.  Everyone has a price and Nigel has yet to meet a man who wouldn’t bend his moral code for enough tax-free green or the threat of a slug between the eyes.  But half the globe?  That was nearly impossible to sway, especially when it was an opinion gained thanks to a video feed featuring four men eating their teeth and half an ounce of lead.   
   
It’s much easier to deal with the press if you’re nothing more than a thug on the street starting a fight, better still if you’re a thug with blackmail in a back pocket and money to burn.  No one of consequence looks twice.  The tabloids could say and do as they pleased, Nigel’s real money came from the “less then legal,” and he didn’t care if Ikea or Jysk decided to drop him for gaining a bad rep with the media.  
   
Will shifted in his seat with a sense of unease. He knew Nigel was annoyed, he could feel it radiating from the man as they drove.  Whether Will was the source of his irritation, or the men who’d pissed him off were, it wasn’t Will’s primary concern. His worry was situated closer to home.  He had pushed Nigel, and now there would be consequences, ones he wasn’t prepared for.   
   
"Competitors for what?" he asked, returning his thoughts to Nigel’s answer, and the men lying battered in the alley.  Will was staring out the window, trying to avoid looking at the man that terrified him. His mind was working in the background, trying to find a way out of this situation that didn’t end with him trapped in the trunk of the car.  
   
Nothing brilliant was coming to mind, but Will was counting himself lucky that at least Nigel really seemed to be taking him home.  He saw familiar buildings as they drove, the area becoming recognizable as they drew closer to Will’s apartment.  
   
Nigel’s honey eyes glanced to the quiet man at his side…so many questions.  The kind of questions that led to shortened lives and burials at sea.  He took one last drag from his cigarette, enjoying the wave of vanilla-scented smoke that drifted over his tongue and down his throat before flicking the butt to roll over pavement.  It gave him an extra moment to consider the question, debate the consequences of feeding his darling truths or lies.  
   
“They’re from a local drug dealer, Mason Verger, competing for sales."  He wouldn’t say territory, that implied he actually wanted a claim on the district and he honestly didn’t give a shit where they sold.  Nigel was the one impeding on their turf. No intention of a takeover, just a little competition on the home front to keep things from becoming too boring.  
   
“What?”  Will hadn't expected an answer at all, let alone one filled with truths that could put the man behind bars.  He at last turned to Nigel and was met with a view of the man’s profile, calm and indifferent.  
   
"I run a drug trade under the guise of a shipping agency," he clarified. "I offer shipping to ports all over the globe with a guarantee for delivery regardless of cargo.  I also sell locally, but that’s more to stir the pot.”  Stop things from becoming stale at home.  
   
Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing, "You...I expected you to lie,” he said baffled. “Feed me some bullshit about shipping competitors, not…I could have you arrested!  Why the hell are you telling me this?"  
   
He shifted gears again and made a turn sharp enough to have Will gripping the seat and his stomach clenching.  "Because you asked and I have no intention of lying to you.”  He smiled, slow and thin, “Not with where this is going to end."  
   
It was enough to abruptly stop Will’s shivering, his body growing still as an animal’s sensing a threat: Nigel voicing what Will had known since that morning.  
   
It didn’t stop him from asking. "Where what’s going to end?"  
   
“One drink William, just one.”  He accelerated and Will would have closed his eyes if he wasn’t watching the terror by his side.  “But you couldn’t do it, couldn’t do dinner either.  You just couldn’t follow the fucking rules of the game.  So I’m not playing nice anymore.  This doesn’t end with dinner.” Not that he had ever intended it too. Nigel would let the boy believe the consequences to be a result of Will’s own shortcomings.  
   
Nigel knew his obsession with the young man had nothing to do with Will’s denial of his advances. Well… less than he was leading on anyway.  He could feel his obsession for Will growing like a festering inch under his skin, one he couldn’t scratch, and it was driving him crazy.  
   
He could only think of one way to reach that itch, scratch it, and keep it satisfied.  
   
The car slid to a stop in front of the apartment, jerking Will against his seatbelt, his heart in his throat.  
   
Nigel’s hand left the gearstick to slide up Will’s leg from knee to his thigh, his fingers made read with dried blood. He caressed the inside of Will’s thigh, just below the crotch, before his hand fell away.  “This doesn’t end until you’re _mine_.”   
   
The emphasis. The possession. Will jerked the buckle with numb fingers in a fight to free himself from the car, the seatbelt meant to hold him safe suddenly trapping him in a cage.  
   
Nigel slipped another cigarette from his soft pack and watched as Will fumbled with his restraint. Leisurely popping open his own seatbelt, Nigel lite his smoke.  Will’s fingers finally caught the release, and throwing open the door as the buckle slid free, Will ran from the car. He tripped to fall on the stairs before scrambling up again to see Nigel following slowly – calmly behind.  
   
He felt like he was trapped in a movie, shoving his hands into empty pockets and patting himself down as Nigel strolled up behind him – one calm step after another – enjoying a long soothing drag from his cigarette. “There’s no need to run darling,” Nigel reminded, deep and gentle, “I said I wouldn’t rape you.”  
   
Will’s shaking returned, his fear devouring him as powerful arms slipped around his waist. He had the sudden realization that his keys were gone.  No phone.  No keys.  Either they were in the car, in the school bag he’d left in his locker, or Nigel had another skill for Will to worry about.  
   
Calloused fingers slipped beneath the waist of Will’s jeans and the bad man purred, palm sliding along his stomach dry and warm, breath hot against his ear. “Problem darling?”  
   
Will pounded the door and hoped it was loud enough to wake the dead.  His sudden assault against wood had Nigel quirking a brow, an odd response for anyone who lived alone, and according to the bitch he’d spent the early hours interrogating, Will lived alone.   There was no one for him to reach out to, not unless this was a bluff.  Another delicious attempt at the deceptions his darling Will was so very poor at.  
   
Golden eyes grew wide however, when the door unlocked and pulled open to reveal a towel-wrapped woman on the other side.  The clever boy in his arms took the moment of surprise to drive his elbow into Nigel’s gut and twist himself free, darting through the open door and slamming it shut in his face.  
   
Nigel spat a curse, glaring at the door that shouldn’t have stood between them and trapped his darling inside.  And that woman!  
   
A fucking woman who shouldn’t have been there, that wasn’t acceptable.  Nigel needed to find out who she was and what the fuck she’s doing naked in his darling’s home.  She wasn’t the girlfriend he’d spoken of over dinner.  That woman didn’t exist – or if she did she’d have a fat cock for Will to ride on, and then Nigel would have to kill her – because that boy was most definitely gay and most definitely his.  
   
The woman in a bath towel was something else entirely.  
   
The sound of the deadbolt sliding home had Nigel fingering a small brass colored key in his pocket.  “You really should know better than to run,” he offered advice to the door before turning away and descending the stairs, slipping his phone from his pocket to make a call instead of the key to invade.  
   
He didn’t doubt his darling would have officers paying him a visit soon enough now that he truly understood the situation he was in.  Will was clever like that, looking for every possibility for escape.  
   
But there was no escaping Nigel.  
   
He would learn that soon enough.  
   
OoOoO  
   
“Who the hell was that?”  Beverly asked baffled as she looked between the door and her friend.  Will didn’t answer, remaining still and quiet with both hands flat to the door, as though he were trying to brace it against the force he expected to burst through.  
   
There was no banging, no screaming or threats, only the whisper of eight simple words through the wood, barely audible as Will listened for the sound of retreating footsteps.  
   
_You really should know better than to run._  
   
He crumpled to his knees, head bowed between shaking shoulders.  
  
This was bad.  
   
“I’m calling the cops.”  Bev announced and left for her phone.  
   
Will remained where he was, kneeling on the ground, shaking with fear.  This wouldn’t end, not until…he didn’t want to think about that.  This was worse than any nightmare his mind could have painted for him, this was a level of hell all its own.  
   
And the devil himself was coming for him.  
   
“He won’t kill me,” Will reassured himself, throat tight, choking on the words, “He won’t rape me,” though the feeling of calloused fingers on his skin still lingered on his skin.  “So what will he do?”  
   
_You brought this on yourself…_  
   
How could Nigel force Will to accept him if he was keeping true to his terms?  Or would he just break the rules he’d set for the game and take what he wants in the end?  
   
Will’s mind raced with thoughts of coercion, kidnapping and a life chained to sturdy bedposts.  He was shaking when Bev helped him to his feet, crying soundlessly with salted streaks of tears running down his cheeks as she guide him to the couch.  
   
It was too easy to imagine the slide of rough palms down his back, positioning his body, gripping his hips to hold still, keep him in place. He’d felt those hands against his skin already, but he couldn’t imagine the feel of Nigel’s engorged cock flush against his opening.  
   
Another swell of hot tears filled his eyes, a cup of coffee pressed into his hands, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders to help with the shaking that had nothing to do with the cold.  
   
He should be eating, force something into his half-starved body to soak up the alcohol and give his stomach something to gnaw on other than itself.  
   
He sipped the steaming cup he’d been handed and was caught off guard of by the taste of chicken broth and thin noodles.  It was startlingly not the taste he’d been expecting and he looked at the salty beverage with confusion before turning to look at the friend by his side.  “My mom always gave us a ‘Cup o’ Soup’ to calm us down.”  Her and her sister. “I drank close to three boxes of the stuff after my last breakup.”  
   
Will almost smiled at that, the thought of Bev moping over countless cups of chicken-flavored saltwater.  “Thanks.”  
   
“It’s what friends are for.”  
   
A knock at the door nearly had Will throwing one of his only two mugs at the door.  Body stiff, he jerked under Beverley’s hand, his eyes focused on the entry.  “Who?”  
   
“I called the cops, Will.  It’ll be okay.”  She left him on the couch and went to door, his heart pounded as the lock flipped, fingers gripping the mug white-knuckled as the door slid open.  He let his eyes sink to the floor when an officer dressed in navy blue stepped in.  
   
He felt so high strung. What was Nigel doing to him?  
   
At some point, most likely when she’d run for her cellphone, Bev had gotten dressed.  Notably, she wasn’t wearing a bra.  Not that the lack of garment ever made much difference to him.   It was probably in her rush back to him that she’d just pulled a grey sweatshirt over her head and stepped into her jeans.  
   
“Evening, I’m officer Popescu.”   Will rolled his mug in hand and kept his focus on the scattered floating noodles.  “Can you tell me what happened?”  
   
Head hanging, shame or exhaustion or fear, Will didn’t want to see the face of the officer standing above him.  He gave his name and statement while watching noodles and dehydrated bits of chicken float in his cup and made sure to leave nothing out, describing everything from the illegal meeting at the bar across town to the men lying beaten on the sidewalk.  No lies, not in this.  The stakes were too high.  
   
“I’ll take a look into it Mr. Graham,” he reassured, “do you have anyone you can stay with for now?”  Will set his cup of cold soup on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, at last looking up to the officer standing in his home.  
   
He looked familiar.  
   
Clean shaved, bald, he was a big guy, but Will couldn’t think of where he might have seen his face before.  Still, the idea buzzed in his mind like a fly in his ear.  
   
“I don’t have any relatives,” Will answered after a moment, “My father died a few years ago, I never knew my mother.  No distant relatives I’m aware of.”  
   
Bev offered a comforting squeeze, “I live in the school dorm.  He can stay with me for a bit.”  Will gave her a look and she smiled, “Freddy can bitch about it all she wants, I’m sure Dean Crawford would allow it for a couple of nights.”  
   
“Yeah, okay, thanks.”  
   
The officer nodded, satisfied for the time being.  “Would you like a ride?”  
   
Will shook his head. He’d already put the man out more than enough.  “Bev has a car.”  It was registered to his parking spot since he didn’t own a vehicle.  “She can drive us to her place.”  
   
Except that neither of them had a key…  
   
Will made the quick decision to leave his place unlocked for the night.  The only thing of value in the whole apartment was his laptop and he would be bringing that with him.  If someone wanted the decade old TV he’d picked up at a yard sale or his DVD player they could have them.  
   
If Nigel wanted to wait in his place for Will’s return he could squat all he liked, Will wasn’t coming back.  
   
He’d pack his things and move himself out tonight, leave the furniture he’d collected from curbsides over the past four years and start all over with a pillow and blankets on the floor.  
   
“Call if you have any other problems.”  The man gave them both a small nod and turned to leave.  
   
Will almost missed the black curve of a tattooed tail twisting up the back of the man’s neck.  
   
He grabbed Bev’s knee tight enough to bruise and felt more tears burn his eyes.    
   
_Anton._  
   
Nigel was everywhere.  
   
OoOoO  
  
TBC  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are trying to see the back of the officers neck, your comments are telling Will to get back in the car.


	7. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will moves and Nigel is underhanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies~<3
> 
> I know this chapter might not be the most thrilling, I promise the next chapter will more than make up for it, but I needed to get a little ground work done so I could make some shit hit the fan in chapter 08.
> 
> As always thank you to all my amazing readers who have been leaving me the kudos and comments fulling my speedy writing and updates. You make me feel appreciated and inspired and make the hours of writing and research worth while~<3 <3 <3
> 
> On with the show!
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Beta read by the beautiful diedofennui. Your editing leaves nothing to be desired~<3

“You’re sure this officer was one of the guys you saw at Nigel’s bar?” Bev asked with a trace of skepticism. She had a garbage bag filled with Will’s clothes and a couple of towels, helping him carry his few worldly possessions -that weren’t just curbside thefts- up the steps and into the dormitory building.  
   
“The guy from the bar had a cat tattooed across the back of his neck,” Will explained.  He had a messenger bag over one shoulder and a box a lot heavier than it looked in his arms.  “I thought he was familiar when I saw him, now I know why.”  
   
“You saw a cat on his neck?”  
   
“I saw its tail,” Will corrected, “The cat was covered by his shirt collar.”  
   
She opened the dormitory door, propping it with her foot to let Will through first.  “Then how can you be so sure it was a cat if all you could see was a curl of black?”  She wasn’t patronizing him, Will could see that.  Bev was trying to reassure him, convince them both that the man who had entered the apartment wasn’t one of the bad guys.  “Will, he’s a cop.  You’re freaking yourself out, the chances of him being the same guy from the bar, a thug working for that creep -”  
   
“Don’t tell me I’m imagining things,” Will cut her off. He knew his mind, his imagination. It wasn’t improbable to think he could be creating his own illusions, he had a healthy dose of fear and an overactive imagination to thank for that, but Will would never have thought to turn that fear toward the police.  The cops were supposed to be safe, and he wanted desperately to be safe.  “I don’t know what I’ll do if you start doubting me Bev.”  
   
Her features softened to something between sympathy and guilt.  “I’m sorry Will.  It’s not that I doubt you, I don’t.  If you say that you saw it then I’m sure that you did…I just think that maybe you should consider the possibility that you’re just freaking out.  You’ve had a rough couple of days, but he’s a cop.  A cop Will.  Humanity sucks as a whole but you have to have some faith in it.”  What other choice did they have?  Who do you go to for help when those who had sworn to protect and defend were turning against you?  
   
Will didn’t know, that was the problem, but it didn’t change the fact that Nigel had cops working for him.  “You’ve never heard of a dirty cop before?”  
   
She gave him a look.  
   
“I recognized him,” Will said again, following Bev up two flights of stairs toward her dorm.  He wasn’t looking forward to spending the night, knew this little surprise was going to cause a shit-show in the dorm.  As soon as he stepped over the threshold Will expected Freddy to do everything in her power to make his life miserable… and then he would be forced to smother the bitch in a block of tofu.  It was her fault he needed a bed, she would just have to suck it up and deal with the fact that Will would be staying a while.  
   
They climbed two flights of stairs to the upper level of the dorm and Bev cursed, remembering the exact reason they hadn’t bothered to lock Will’s apartment door.  "I don't have my keys,"  she reminded Will and knocked.  
   
It made him smile, he had to, the day had been a disaster and he’d already passed through every other emotion and wrung himself dry.  He was at the point of either laughing or crying, and it was better to share a haphazard smile than dehydrate himself any further.  “Do you think she’s home?”  
   
Bev shrugged, “Never know with Lounds, she could be seeing her boyfriend, washing her hair or ruining somebody’s life.”  She slammed the flat of her hand against the door in another loud series of smacks.  “Open up Freddy, I forgot my keys.”  
   
“Nigel got my address from her, this morning,” Will muttered, “when I caught her in the hall this afternoon she threatened to contact him again.”  Bev turned to him with a distinct expression that hovered somewhere between being worried for her awful roommate and being utterly pissed.  “She could be with Nigel.”  That thought was dangerous knowing the intent he’d seen in Nigel’s eyes over his plate of bloody steak, and for all its danger, it held some appeal.  He wasn’t worried for the missing woman who had threatened his well-being and ruined his life for two years, and he knew that this line of thinking made him a very bad person.  
   
“I hate her,” Bev said, dropping the bag of clothes to the floor and grabbing her cell phone, “but I don’t want her dead.”  She listened to the digital beep as it dialed, and several long rings later it rolled to voicemail.  Hanging up she dialed again, holding her breath as she waited. She'd wished hell upon the woman at least a dozen times in the past two months, but right now she needed Freddie to pick up the fucking phone.  
   
The door opened instead.  
   
"Next time you can sleep at Graham's" snapped Freddy, looking as though she'd been roused from sleep, blurry eyed and dressed in pajamas.  A shapely brow quirked at the sight of bags, box, and Will. “What’s he doing here?”  
   
“You told a psychopath where I live.  What do you think I’m doing here?”  Will snapped back.  He didn’t wait for an invitation, instead pushing his way past the thoughtless whore and into her dorm.  She had only herself to thank – and wasn’t that ironic considering his current situation?  
   
“You’re not allowed in here.”  She turned to Bev, “he’s not allowed in here.”  
   
 “You chased me away last night by having a boy in here,” Bev countered, pushing past with the bag of clothes in hand and her backpack over her shoulder, “my turn.”  
  
Freddy didn’t close the door, holding it open instead in hopes that Will would leave as quickly as he’d arrived.  He wasn’t planning on it. He plopped his box of things next to Bev’s bed and dropped down onto it.  “Police told me to stay with a friend Lounds.  Bev is my only friend thanks to the article you wrote, and now I’ve lost my apartment because of you as well.”  
   
“He cornered me-”  
   
“No!  He cornered me!”  Will didn’t give her the chance to finish, shouting at the bitch still holding the door, expecting him to leave and go – where?  She didn’t care, and now Will was wishing Nigel had found her after dinner.  “He had me pressed against a wall and told me that I belonged to him.” Will started tallying his grievances: “He has a gun, he knows where I live, he’s stalking me, he came to my house and picked me up for school this morning. He even threatened me into going to dinner with him earlier tonight!”  And what exactly was he threatening?  How far did that threat carry?  What did Nigel think of Bev when he saw her answer the door? Is her own safety now compromised?  Will didn’t have a clue.  He sure wished he did.  “I don’t care if he had you cornered,” he spat at Freddie, “ you sold me out to a fucking psychopath!”  
   
She closed the door.  “I’m sorry.”  
   
“Sorry isn’t going to fix this,”  he snapped.  
   
“It might be my fault Lascăr knows where you live, but you told him where you go to school.  He would have followed you home after class with or without my help.”  
   
 “Without your ‘help’ wouldn’t have led to Nigel beating the piss out of four men on Bourbon drive.”  Things might have played out differently. He wouldn’t have found Will until after school, dinner might never have happened.  
   
Ever the reporter, Freddie only pushed for more. “Why’d he beat them up?”  
   
Will rolled his eyes, he didn’t want to deal with her shit, couldn’t right now.  “I just lost my home and you’re still looking to make a fucking story out of it?  Why the hell are you even in forensics?  Shouldn’t you be pissing someone off as a journalism major or something?”  
   
“I’m going to be a crime journalist.  It’ll be easier for me if I have an understanding of what I’m writing about.”  
   
“I can’t believe you.  I’ve been dealing with your shit for over two years, and you still manage to baffle me with your selfishness.”  He turned to Bev.  “She’s a sociopath.”  
   
 “I’m not a sociopath, but you are a psychopath.”  
   
 “You’re a bitch,” Bev supplied to Freddy, “and you need sleep,” she continued to Will. “The two of you can fight this out in the morning.  We’ll speak to the Dean and see about better,” - separate- “accommodations.”  
   
Will nodded, returning to Bev’s bed.  It was softer than his double, but smaller in size, only a twin.  She’d covered it with light purple sheets and a quilt that looked like it had been made by her grandmother, vibrant squares of blue and purple. It was cozy and warm, and made him think of the happy families he’d always seen on TV and movies growing up. He was sure that kind didn’t exist in real life… or at least his life.   
   
 “Thanks Bev.”  He watched as Freddy accepted the inevitable, flipping the door lock with the knowledge that Will was going to stay, and that she was going to have to deal with it. She marched to the bathroom and returned with her toothbrush, placing it on the nightstand by her bed.  
   
Apparently Freddy thought Will was the kind of guy who’d take her toothbrush and run it along the inside of the toilet.  He hadn’t thought about it before, but was more than a little tempted now.  
   
 “Don’t worry about it Will.”  Bev stripped off her shirt and jeans, slipping back into the pajamas she’d spent nearly the entire day living in before slipping in the bed right alongside him.  It was comforting to have her pressed against him, feel his back against hers, the warmth of a shared heat, intimate in a safe and friendly way.  She always smelled like soap to Will, some weird goat milk blend her grandma liked to send her around the holidays in quantities rivaling a hoarder’s.  “We’ll speak with Crawford in the morning, see about getting you a temporary residency until they catch Lascăr.”  
   
 “Yeah, okay.”  He loved Bev. Like a brother and sister, completely platonic…safe.  
   
That was perfect for Will.  
   
OoOoO  
   
“You were right, he called the station.”  Anton Popescu stepped behind a heavy velvet curtain and into the private showroom housing Nigel.  The man was lounging back on a padded sectional couch. I was upholstered in a tacky zebra print that made Anton want to flip the couch over and see if it looked any better on the underside.  Nigel and his love for ugly patterns, he would never understand it, but the man seemed to enjoy tacky prints almost as much as he loved his bar.   
   
The dive they’d been visiting the night before was only a shithole meant for laundering the cash gained from small-time local drug sales. Ouroboros on the other hand, was his baby, a gentlemen’s club he’d built with his own tastes and preferences in mind.   
   
Mellow jazz swept through the bar like a swallow of smooth whiskey. The strippers swung around metal poles in slow teasing glides, slipping away layers of clothing, while male and female servers walked the floors dressed in too little and too tight, offering their trays of drinks -among other services- for anyone with the money.  
   
“I knew he would,” Nigel answered without taking his eyes from the woman slowly slipping the laces from her corset to let the silken piece fall to the floor. She freed her small firm breasts for Nigel’s viewing pleasure before taking the room’s private pole in hand.  Anton dropped onto the couch next to Nigel, joining the man to watch the show. “What did he tell you?”  
   
“Pretty much everything.” Anton handed his better-paying employer a copy of the report he hadn’t submitted and watched a smile split the man’s face as he skimmed the document.  “He didn’t leave out much.”  
   
 “Little bitch,” he took a swig of beer and chuckled, the police report his own private joke.  “He’s out to get me arrested.”   
   
Anton barked a laugh at that, looking down at his own navy uniform and then back to the man funding his retirement, “No shit.  I submitted a report placing you here with a couple of regulars and a few of the girls as witnesses.  One of the boys is looping a couple of hours of last week for me to take back to the office as today’s footage for evidence.”  He looked to Nigel, “Did you handle the restaurant footage?”  
   
Nigel hummed, answering with a nod as he read the report, flipping to the second page and skimming for details.  “Not a very flattering description of me.”   
   
Anton shrugged and watched the dancer cross her legs around the pool, sliding upside down from the top to the floor.  She didn’t have the biggest tits in the bar, but she worked the pole better than any of the other girls.  “Most people aren’t too flattering when they cry.”  
   
Nigel frowned. “He cried?”  
   
 “Until about half-way through the statement,” he confirmed.  
  
Nigel didn’t like that.  He didn’t want the thought of himself making his sweet William cry.  But they were tears of fear, and those tears would dry for good once Will adjusted to his new life with Nigel. “What about the girl he was with?  Some cunt in a towel, did you find out anything about her?”  
   
“Beverly Katz.”  He supplied, “She’s his lab partner at SUNO, lives in the university dorms.”  He reached over and flipped the report to its last page. “The room number and phone are listed at the bottom.”  
   
It wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to know, “Nothing about them dating?”  
   
“They said they were friends.”  
   
He nodded, flipping back to the front of the report. “This says Will has no family?”  That would make keeping Will all to himself that much easier, he would make him disappear from the world if that’s what needed to be done to keep Will for himself.  
   
“He’s staying on campus with the girl, crashing in her dorm for a couple of nights until I have you handled.”  
    
Nigel almost thought that was cute.  He tossed the paper onto a squat table by his side and let dark honey eyes refocus on the woman grinding the pole.  “He won’t be going home again after this.”  Nigel tapped a finger against the empty beer bottle. “I have his house key.  He’ll be hunting for a new apartment before the end of the week.”  The point of that little theft was to leave Will with nowhere to go but back to the car with Nigel and back to his place.  That plan hadn’t worked.    
   
It was Beverly’s fault that it hadn’t and now Will was staying with her.  
   
What was to be done about that?  
   
“This kid has really gotten to you hasn’t he?”  
   
Nigel sighed, rolling his head against the back of the sofa to better see the dirty cop at his side.  “He has Anton, he really fucking has.  And I can’t even tell you fucking why.”  He smiled a little wider, a softness in his eyes as he thought of pale skin and chocolate curls.  “This kid, he’s making me a little crazy.”  
   
Anton barked a laugh, “You’re always crazy, this kid hasn’t brought out anything new, he’s just given your fucked up mind something to focus on.”  
   
Nigel didn’t deny the accusation, instead handing the officer his empty bottle with a grin.  “Get back to work before your chief comes looking for you.  Send Matt in on your way out.”  
   
“Sure.”  He got up and paused to cast one last look in Nigel’s direction, the man tapping out a cigarette to light up with a bright flame.  “You’re planning to keep him, aren’t you?”  
   
He took a deep breath of tobacco and sighed a cloud of vanilla smoke, “I am.”  
  
“You don’t think you’ll get tired of him once you’ve finally had your cock in him?”  
   
Wasn’t that a thought to consider?  Could this whole obsession just be a need to fuck the boy who tempted him like a siren from the moment he’d sat down at that shitty bar? Just a chance to chase the tail he’d been denied?   
   
No.  “This isn’t just about sex Anton.  I don’t know what it is about this kid, but I want him.  I want him bad and I want to keep him.”  Will had enough fire, fight, and rebellion to keep things interesting between them for a long, long time.  “I don’t see myself getting tired of this one.”  
   
He saw himself keeping Will indefinitely.  
   
Anton walked away and Nigel settled back against the soft fabric of the couch to watch as Gabi danced.  Usually seeing the gorgeous ginger work the pole would be enough entertainment for Nigel to enjoy his night, maybe even end it with a hefty tip and a quick fuck before he left for home.  That wasn’t the case tonight though.  Gabi wasn’t doing shit to satisfy him, his keen mind drifting back to Will again and again until he stopped trying to pay attention to rosy nipples and curvaceous hips and let his mind wander to the toned form of a too skinny man he desperately needed to feel wrapped around his cock and held beneath him.   
   
“You wanted me Mr. Lascăr?”  A younger man with more muscle tone than Nigel usually liked and a twisted scar in his upper lip stepped through the heavy curtains into the room.  He had a beer for Nigel in hand, the condensation forming on its side suggesting it was fresh, the label the same as the empty he'd just finished.   
   
He motioned for the man to come closer and held out a fifty pinched between pointer and middle for the man to take or leave.  He gave Nigel the beer and took the money, dropping to his knees between Nigel’s own to work open the button and fly of Nigel’s jeans, give him the extra service he’d paid for.   
  
“You can go Gabi.” He dismissed the working woman to instead close his eyes and spread his legs a little wider. Carding his fingers through hair too straight and coarse to be his darling's, Nigel imagined him all the same: His beautiful Will seated before him instead of this man desperate to make rent, Will's full pink lips wrapped around his aching cock instead of this man's twisted thick ones. The man between his legs sucked slowly at the head of his cock, hollowing his cheeks to drag lewd noises from Nigel’s throat.  He bucked his hips to feel the bulbous tip scrape against the back of Matt’s throat, making him choke, and Nigel thought of his darling gagging on him, gripping his pants as he tried to work through his first blow job, the first of many.   
   
It would be a learning experience, teaching Will to open his throat and take Nigel all the way to the root, show him how to use his quick fingers along his shaft to keep Nigel pleased as Will gained experience.   
   
 “Fuck.” He panted the curse, wetting his lips as he thought of satin soft curls sliding beneath his hands. He came without warning, thinking of blue grey eyes staring up the planes of his body to meet his gaze, mouth full and pupils blown with lust.  
   
He needed to win this boy, he couldn’t fucking wait.  
   
Satisfied, he released short cropped hair and let the mouth slide off his cock with a wet pop. He put himself away, dismissing the body that had been used to service his needs.  That’s all it had been, a service, empty and meaningless.  It would be nothing compared to the pleasure Will would bring him, even in his learning curve.  What they would share, messy and unpracticed.  He looked forward to that.  
   
Grabbing the beer he'd set aside, he drank three deep swallows and abandoned the bottle on a table to be bussed away at someone else’s convenience.   
   
Despite Will's call to the authorities and move from apartment to dorm, Nigel was feeling good, satisfied and alive.  He felt like he was on the road to victory and it was a victory worth commemorating, like every other he’d won so far.  He touched a calloused finger to the side of his neck, ran it down the smooth bare skin and thought of something better, heading toward the bars double doors with thoughts of his favorite tattoo artist and an image in mind.  It had been a while since Nigel had enjoyed the prick of a needle.  
   
He knew exactly what he wanted to get.  
   
OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are pole dancing while your comment make it rain.
> 
> The author is debating designs for the side of Nigel's neck.


	8. No Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will thinks he's safe when he really, really isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't have words for the appreciation I feel every time I update this story and see the hits and kudos go up, I can't explain how fucking happy I am with ever bookmark, subscribe and comment. Honestly the support for this story has really blown me away. Thank you all for reading it and enjoying it despite its dark and twisted nature. ;n; 
> 
> For this chapter particularity I feel I owe an extra thanks to diedofennui, the editing job for this chapter was above and beyond and she deserves a fucking applause for her efforts here. I can not thank you enough. 
> 
> I would also like to leave a thank you to Everett_Hart for assistance in plot collaboration for this story, part of which is experienced in this chapter and will be enjoyed in future chapters to come~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Beta read by diedofennui.

“This is…a very unique situation.”  Jack Crawford, Dean of the Southern University of New Orleans, addressed the young man seated across from him. As far as Jack was concerned, Will Graham was one of their more promising students.  Though he didn’t see the man going as far with forensics as some of the other students he might envision, he could easily see him making a name for himself as a star profiler or detective. Will Graham’s success or failure would be a result of the foundation provided by his school.  
   
He just wished the few visits Will had been forced to make to his office had been for something a little more positive. They were generally inspired by harassment cases brought on by fellow students, or a certain article that should never have been written.   
   
Now he sat before Crawford not for his promising future career, but for the beginning of another tragedy. Jack wished that the additional drama was not being added to Will Graham’s already lonely life. “Given the circumstances,” he began, “I think we should be able to find lodging to accommodate you.”  That wouldn’t excuse the fee of course, dorm rooms had to be paid for the same as any apartment for rent.  Jack could waive it for a few days, maybe the remainder of the month, but if Will intended to drop his lease and stay in the dorms for the remainder of the year…he would eventually have to pay.  
   
“Thank you Mr. Crawford.”  Will hadn’t expected the conversation to go so smoothly, for the Dean to be so understanding of his position. He had found Will a place to stay, made room for him in the dormitories, and was allowing him to defer paying the cost; Crawford had been under no obligation to do so, but he had.   
   
It was a favor Will was grateful for.  
   
He would, of course, pay his living expense for the remainder of the year, he just couldn’t afford to pay it that month. Next month there would be double rent along with tuition fees to consider.  Will would terminate his lease at the end of the month, and pay for the following thirty days as outlined in his contract.  In the meantime, he’d pick up as many extra shifts as his sleep -deprived body could handle, trying to make up for the extra expense.   
   
Still, despite the impending tidal wave of little sleep and abundant exhaustion, the dorm was a tremendous relief, one less problem for Will to deal with.  But he and Crawford were not finished with their conversation, and Will knew there was a chance this small salvation could still be revoked.  He dearly hoped it would hold, and pressed on with the truth.  
   
“I-” he bit his lip, thought again of how these words could bury him, wondered how much he could trust someone like Crawford to understand. At what point would Will’s unusual predicament veer into the paranoia that Bev had accused him of?   
   
It was her doubt that had Will second-guessing himself now.  
   
Jack believed that he understood Will’s problem. “It’s no trouble Will, this is a dangerous situation you’ve found yourself in and I will do everything in my power to aid you while the police complete their investigation.”  
   
Jack thought he understood…but he didn’t.  “The officer who came to my apartment was one of the men at the bar,” Will said at last. His hands lay fisted in his lap as he awaited the denials and accusations of delusional behavior. “He has a cat tattooed on his neck…same as the man from the bar who’d been with Nigel. Anton’s his name.” Will bit his lip a little harder, let the pinch of teeth on his skin ground him. “I don’t think the police are going to help me in this.”  
   
Jack narrowed his eyes in consideration. “You think the police are working with your stalker?”  
   
Will could hear the skepticism in Crawford’s voice, and all of his fears reared up before him. He would have been better saying nothing, accepting half an ally instead of driving Crawford away and having no one at all.  Now he was going to lose the dorm.   
   
Lose the dorm and then what? Will couldn’t go back to his apartment, not knowing that he could be opening the door to Nigel waiting for him on the other side.  He felt the sting of tears burning behind his eyes and curled over, face buried in his hands as he tried not to break.  “I saw it, I saw the cat.”  It was fight to keep the tears at bay, stop his voice from cracking, keep from drowning in the river of despair flooded by Nigel.  
   
“Then we can’t trust any reports offered by officer Popescu.”   
   
With shaking breath Will looked up to Crawford. The man was watching him with what appeared to be only the deepest concern and sympathy.  
   
“You…believe me?”  
   
“No one else does?”  
   
He shrugged, throat still tight, making him nervous about using his voice.  “Bev doubts me.”  
   
“It’s a normal reaction to want to trust those who are meant to protect us, like the police. That doesn’t make what’s happening to you any less real.”  They were the most reassuring words Will had heard in two days.  
   
The Dean believed him; Jack Crawford believed him, didn’t shadow him with doubt.  It was like a beacon in a storm.  “Thank you.”  
   
“Nothing to thank me for yet.” He pulled a pen and paper from his top drawer and scrawled a detailed note for the front desk, they could call him for further details as necessary, his priority was getting the young man in front of him relocated somewhere safe.  “Take this to the administration desk.  They’ll set you up with a room.  I want you to get yourself moved in today, focus on your studies, and try not to be overwhelmed with what’s going on outside of school.”  
   
Will took the note, nodding. “Thank you.”  
   
Crawford returned the nod. “I’ll see about having this month’s rent waived, but after this you’ll have to add dorm fees to your payment plan.”  Will replied with another thank you, grabbing his bag and getting up to go.  It was more than he’d hoped for, better than anything he’d expected, and he was grateful for the small reprieve.   
   
One person believed him, truly and honestly believed him.  It gave him more relief than he would have thought possible.  
   
Jack watched the young man – broken but hopeful – hurry from his office, the note gripped in his fist like a life preserver.  He wished he could offer him more.   
   
“Nigel Lascăr…” Jack locked his desk and grabbed his coat.   
   
He was going to try.  
   
OoOoO  
   
The dorm Will found himself shifted into wasn’t much to look at, plain walls and basic furnishing. It was a step backward from what he’d had in his apartment, despite the “curbside collection” that was his former living room.  Looking at the bare mattress, he was glad he’d remembered to pack his sheets. They were far too large for the twin-sized bed tucked into the corner, he’d be stuffing lengths of fabric under the mattress and all but cocooning the bed to make them fit, but at least he had a room with a lock. Plus, he didn’t have to follow through on his earlier threat of bunking in the janitor closet.   
   
He would have done it without a second thought if he’d had to, anything to avoid going home.   
   
Even if Nigel wasn’t there waiting for him on the other side of the door, the knowledge of him having a key, able to show up anytime and waltz into his home silent –unannounced – unnoticed until it was too late: Will waking to the feel of hands peeling away his night shirt, dragging down his shorts, lying on his back with heart pounding as he stares up into carnal honey eyes…it was too much.  
   
He dropped the bags and box he’d carried in with Bev, and checked the dresser for anything left behind by a former occupant.  There was a pair of pink socks forgotten in the bottom drawer, and an oddly-placed bottle of green nail polish tucked behind.  He tossed both in the waste-bin by his bed and checked his watch. It was half past five, he had a shift at the Coffee House at six and with his sudden need to pay double rent next month, it was a shift he couldn’t afford to miss.  He’d have to worry about unpacking later.  
   
Opening the bag of clothes, Will rooted around until he found a dark blue shirt with a steaming cup of coffee printed on the front, grabbing a heavy sweatshirt to pull over the tee and keep him warm against the evening chill.  It was strange; nothing had really changed. The circumstances surrounding him in regards to his new stalker were still the same, and yet – situated in his new room – Will felt a sense of calm. His new living space and the key that kept him safe from Nigel felt like a suit of armor.   
   
It had Will feeling confident about going to work instead of fearing the walk out of the door. He grabbed his wallet and locked up before taking the back exit out of the dormitory.  He felt safe, but he wasn’t about to assume that he was.  He took an alternate route to work, trying to enjoy the evening air during his brisk walk.  
   
It was still light out, the sun only starting to set as he hurried down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop.   
   
It was closer to the university than his other job, the shop kept its doors open late for the students in need of a caffeine fix in the early hours of the morning. With Will’s general insomnia and ability to survive on little to no sleep – so long as he had coffee available to him – he was an ideal baristo. He could handle the late shifts, willing to drink coffee and study behind the counter until the Coffee House closed at two in the morning.   
   
The unlimited coffee for staff was also a perk.  
   
The Coffee House was an odd little shop located off the busy strip and down a side street. Despite the tucked-away locale, it never seemed to have any problems with cash flow, and Will suspected that was due to the late nights and discounts for students.   
   
It was located below another shop, an art store filled with oil paint and canvases. Will trotted down the six steps necessary to reach the café’s front door and entered the sitting area, a long thin room with a bar used for serving in the front, and tables set all along the side wall. Spindley chairs sat along the counter’s front.  There were enough wall outlets that Will would have thought they’d be forced to charge more for the wifi and the regular power-thieving by student laptops, but the little shop brought in enough business with its good prices and decent brews that the oft-used power sources never seemed to be a problem.  
   
“Hey Will!” Zeller lifted a hand in greeting as he foamed lattes for a pair of girls texting at the counter. Will returned the greeting in kind, stepping behind the counter and walking into the back to stuff his sweater in a locker and clock in.  
   
He noticed an unexpected figure seated at the desk. “Mr. Countryman...” he began, looking at the clock. It was ten to six, just before his shift was due to start and long after his manager should have been gone for the day, not sitting at the computer used to track shifts.   
   
Not sitting with a shiner blooming dark around his left eye.  
   
…this wasn’t happening.  
   
This wasn’t following him to work, couldn’t be following him to work.  Will needed to work.  He needed it!  There was no way Will would be able to continue classes without his shitty jobs to pay for school.  
   
“Will, look I’m sorry, but I have to let you go.”    
   
He felt his heart sink, the rise in spirits he’d been enjoying died as he looked at the man who had been his employer since he’d started at SUNO.  
   
“You can’t just fire me…you have to have a reason,” Will argued, but he knew it was feeble. He knew he couldn’t push this, not and keep Charlie safe.  This was happening because Nigel was making it happen.  It was the only explanation for the darkly forming bruise crawling around his manager’s eye.  Will could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like beneath his clothing.  He sat hunched in the swivel chair, an arm keeping him steady against the side of the desk.  The more Will looked at him, the better he could see the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, muscles tight around his jaw where teeth clenched in discomfort.   
   
He looked older than he was, not the awkward man Will had gotten used to, almost enjoyed the company of.  
   
Charlie scratched the beginning of growth on his face and offered Will a look of regret that told him more than words.  He didn’t want to do this, but he had to.  “I think we both know why I have to let you go Will.”  
   
“You could testify to the police,” he protested, “talk to someon-”  
   
“Will,” he cut him off, “look, I’m sorry.  But this isn’t just about you and me.”  Will could see his embarrassment, how badly he wished there was another way.  “Whatever he has on you, wants you for…look, I’m sorry.  He has someone special to me working for him and I don’t wanna see her get hurt.  I have to terminate your employment.”  
   
It wasn’t fair. After a lifetime of eating fish or nothing at all, scrimping and saving, losing his father, spending two years slinging coffee and earning shitty tips…this was how he was it was going to end?  His life picked apart and destroyed by one fucking psycho determined to get down his pants?   
   
Fuck him.   
   
Will would get another job, still had another job despite the generally shitty sales.  If Nigel thought he could smoke him out, he had another thing coming.  
   
Charlie pulled a folded envelope from his back pocket, wincing with a movement that had Will thinking cracked or broken ribs, and offered it to Will.  He took it knowing what he’d find inside, his termination paper and last paycheck.  If he was lucky it might even include a two-week severance.  
   
He left the same way he’d come, back up the stone steps.  
   
“Will?  Hey, where ya goin?”  He ignored Brian’s call, hurrying out the door and sprinting back to his dorm, turning humiliation and regret into anger and hate.   
   
He skipped the turn off for the dorm’s back entrance and ran the whole block’s semicircle to enter the building through the front.  
   
He was hot and sweaty by the time he got back to the dorm, his tee shirt sticking to his back, curls slicked to his neck and face.  He felt better, not good, but better.  Like he’d found a small outlet for some of the negative energy that was burring him, a small release from the stress snowballing over him.   
   
The Coffee House situation was something he couldn’t do anything about, Charlie’s mind would not be changed if Nigel had someone he loved under his thumb. And Nigel could not get his hands on Will so long as he remained on campus, it was why he was working to force him out, limit his funds so he couldn’t afford to remain.  Will would end up back on the street and within Nigel’s reach.  
   
The dorm was his safe haven for now, a fortress of warm bodies Nigel couldn’t penetrate,   
   
…which made it all the more unnerving to see Officer Popescu and his partner standing outside his room.  They were talking quietly, looking as if they were ready to turn and leave when they caught sight of Will. Anton zeroed in on him, a serious look on his face, reprimand and consequence.  The little feeling of comfort Will had managed to find disappeared with a “pop” under the man’s scrutinizing gaze.   
   
This wasn’t a visit to tell him they’d caught Nigel.  
   
This was bad.  
   
“Mr. Graham, I’m afraid I need to ask you to come with us.”  
   
“W-what?”  He took a step back, barely stopped himself from running again.  This wouldn’t be the same as engaging Nigel in a chase – he would run Will into the ground and cause problems of his own –  but Anton was an officer of the law.  Running from him was a criminal offense.    
   
“Why?” he managed.  
   
“I’m placing you under arrest for filing a false statement with an officer,” he stated grimly, lifting a pair of metal cuffs for Will to see as he approached.  
   
“No, I didn’t lie!”  Will looked to his partner in desperation, taking in her nametag, “Starling…please!”   She didn’t seem convinced.  
   
Curious eyes turned on Will as doors eased open and students stopped to watch the unraveling of Will’s life.  There were cameras flashing around him, cell phones snapping pictures and taking footage of his arrest as Anton snapped metal cuffs around his wrists, his hands behind his back.  
   
There was no coming back from this.    
   
His life was sliding away like water slipping through the cracks of a broken jar.  “You have the right to remain silent,” Starling began, gripping Will by the arm as she walked him down the hall and out of the building, “anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”  
   
“Will?”  Outside now, he didn’t look up, clenching his eyes tight and ducking his head as Bev’s voice rang out above the sea of gasps and murmurs.  “Wait! Will, what’s going on?”  
   
Anton popped open the door of the police car and Starling slid him inside.  He sat hunched on the cold plastic seat, heard the door slam shut and felt his mind turn off.   
   
He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel.  Nothing existed beyond the defining static in his mind as he tried to process what was happening.  
   
Everything was falling apart.  
   
“Will!”  He wouldn’t look at her, kept his eyes pinched shut, afraid to open them and face the reality of where he sat and what Nigel had done.   
   
He heard Starling ask her to step away from the car, and Anton climbing into the driver’s seat. The woman slid in next to him once Bev had stepped away.  
   
As the car pulled away from the curb, Will knew he was leaving a part of his life behind.  
   
OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are attacking Zeller and Countrymen with whipped, your comments are rooftop surfing on the police car.


	9. Unwanted Generosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel finds out that Will is in jail and gets pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers~<3
> 
> I feel that I have managed to confuse the fuck out of you all, if you’re not confused you’ve been crushed and for that I am terribly, terribly sorry. I warned at the beginning of this story that it was going to be some really dark shit. So, to let you all understand how dark we’re talking, what you’re going to be reading from here on out, I’m going to lay the cards on the table and let you all know.
> 
> **WARNING & SPOILER ALERT ******
> 
> ****It only gets worse from here.** **
> 
> ****Will’s arrest and the loss of his job are only the tip of the iceberg. If you’re having a hard time swallowing that then you may not wish to continue the story. Please heed the warning listed at the beginning of the fic, please note the tags and if you need to ask me something or know an ending piece/spoiler in order to continue comfortably reading this story, then please, contact me. I have my e-mail listed in the notes on the first chapter. Feel free to privately message me with any questions and concerns you may have regarding this fic, but I would like to keep spoilers to a minimum on the actual story page, so please don’t post anything we discuss if you choose to contact me. I will offer up as many spoilers as you need to be able to comfortably move forward through e-mail only.** **
> 
> ****I know for myself that I HATE sad endings, I hate stories that make me cry. I’m so, so sorry for anyone who’s shed a tear over this fic and hated it. For those of you crying and loving it, glad I could help~ <3** **
> 
> ****I can’t tell with my writing what the emotional response to a situation could/should be. I don’t know what’s funny, sad, rage inducing, you get the idea. I’m writing it, I know where it ends and what to expect. To me it’s just an enjoyable little story; so I always adore hearing from you all what your emotional responses are to a chapter and if you enjoyed it because I honestly cannot tell anything about my own writing. XD** **
> 
> ****That said. Do not troll me. Do not tell me how to tag my story or how it should or souldn't read. I wasted nearly three hours on this on Saturday and it pissed me off. It never should have happened. My story is tagged, warnings are placed and I have methods of contact availible for anyone who needs to know what is going on or why I have someting tagged a certain way. A fight never should have happened in my comments and I should never have been pressed to contact AO3. This is a free service, I'm not paid for my writing, I give up hours upon hours and I'm talking 17 hours plus per chapter, to write these stories. I don't need anyone degrading my work.** **
> 
> ****If this story takes a turn I'm not expecting I will place warnings in the chapters heading and I will tag the fic as _I see appropriate_. But I would like to point out one very interesting fact most people forget. We all buy and read novels, we all enjoy professionally written pieces of literature and you know what? I've never seen a book with a warning or tag on it's front. Think about that next time you read a fic that you think deserves a stronger tag or warning on its cover.** **
> 
> ****Sorry for the outburt lovelies, I don't mean to come down on anyone but I've been bullied into taking down my stories before. It was the reason for my last 8 year hiatus and I won't do that again. Never a-fucking-gain.** **
> 
> ****So, thank you all for reading this far, thank you to the ones who will continue to read to the stories end and I apologize to those of you who feel the need to bow out. I understand and I'm sorry that story couldn't be want you wanted or expected it to be.** **
> 
> ****I own nothing.** **
> 
> ****Beta read by the amazing and beautiful diedofennui~ <3 Thank you darling, your work leaves me speechless~<3 <3 <3** **

“You idiot,” Nigel cursed throwing his half empty bottle of beer. Brown glass and carbonized liquid exploded across the concrete wall behind the imbecile who was fucking everything up.  Nigel was disappointed the man had the good sense to duck, he’d really wanted to see the bottle take him in the face.  “I told you to fuck with the evidence, not fucking arrest him!  Do you have any idea what damage you’ve done?”  
   
This situation was going to be hard to fix.  Nigel had wanted his own face erased from the camera feeds to avoid jail time, not put his darling behind bars instead.  
   
“What were you expecting?”  Anton asked, glancing over his shoulder to the mess that had almost hit him in the face.  “You told me to clear your name, that meant turning Will’s statement into a pile of lies.  Falsifying a statement to an officer is a felony.  The penalty is jail time.”  
   
Despite his intense desire to break Anton’s jaw, he didn’t have time.  “You squeaking cunt, you’re a fucking idiot,” he snapped, leaving the bar, abandoning Anton to figure out for himself whether he was still employed or not.  It was always dangerous to be unemployed after working with Nigel, people who were fired from their line of work didn’t tend to make it home, at least not the same way they’d left it.  
   
For all of Nigel’s confidence that he’d always come out on top when the odds were stalked against him, this was a gamble he couldn’t predict.  
   
OoOoO  
   
Emptiness.  
   
Most people don’t realize how powerful a lack of emotion is, the hollow feeling of nothingness carving out every inch of your insides until there’s nothing left but the blankness that consumes you.  
   
In some ways it’s a relief, not to have to feel the crippling fear of his situation, to let his mind and body shut down against the anxiety as he waits for the ability to cope.  He knows that he should be concerned.  Stress is healthy, fear is healthy, numb is broken; Will can’t afford to be broken.  He didn’t want to be broken.  
   
At least he still had that.  
   
Sitting on the bed’s edge in his holding cell, Will let himself be consumed by the void.  He was trapped in a room of white with white on white and it was doing nothing to stimulate his senses and chase away the haunting static in his mind.  He was still trying to comprehend that he’d been booked.  Picture taken, figures pressed in ink and on paper, his Miranda Rights given and statement taken again, the same statement he’d spent nearly an hour explaining before…the same statement that had gotten him arrested…  
   
He still didn’t understand how this had happened, how one night had turned his life upside down.  During his statement, or maybe it would be more accurate to say interrogation, they had explained to him that evidence had been obtained disproving his statement, insisted that he was lying and asked if he would be willing to give his statement again while attached to a polygraph.  He’d agreed despite the absence of a lawyer and yet, still, here he sat.  Trapped in a holding cell sitting on the edge of a white bed, in a white room, with a white floor, only the tiniest of walls provided to offer privacy during bathroom use…if he was sitting.  
   
Will was willing to sit to take a piss if it meant keeping a little of his lost dignity…whatever that was worth now.  
   
Which wasn’t a whole lot, it would seem.   
   
Will supposed part of feeling numb, overflowing with that sense of nothingness and torpidity, meant that he didn’t give two flying fucks if someone saw his ass when he dropped his drawers to use the john.  
   
He wished that he stilled cared.  At least felt angry, violated or victimized.  He deserved to feel those things, to be shaking and crying, screaming and demanding freedom from wrongful incarceration, but it felt like a futile endeavor.  He could yell until his throat was hoarse, they wouldn’t let him out.  They wouldn’t listen to his pleas.  Not with whatever Nigel had done to get his ass locked in here in the first place.  
   
On a bright side, he could still pursue his dream of being an officer.  It wasn’t completely unheard of for a police officer to have a record…but he would have to disclose it to them, explain himself and his reasons and…God they would never understand.  Not if this was the outcome of his being honest.  
   
A smile, twisted and broken and wrong, curled Will’s lips and a bubble escaped him, the strangest sort of mirth.  He giggled.   
   
At first it was a sort of soft snicker and then a full-blown laugh, head cradled in his hands, tears wetting his face.  Hysteria, he was suffering from fucking hysteria.   
   
There really was nothing left of him.  
   
“Will.”  
   
The laugh trickled down to an awkward sort of giggle, hot tears still streaking his face as he turned to the man standing outside his cage, the same man who should have been standing within.  The one who should have been housed behind bars waiting for trial instead of staring at Will from the other side.  
   
He was wearing a suit.  
   
Black on black and missing the tie, it was a stark contrast to the white on white he’d been subjected to for the last few hours.  
   
Will liked it.  
   
Actually, the way the jacket pulled in against his waist, the pants tailored to fit around his hips and fall so perfectly down his toned legs…  
   
Nigel looked sexy in a suit, deadly and sexy.  
   
And now he was delusional…wonderful.  
   
“What do you want Nigel?”  
   
“I want to talk.”  It was the strangest sort of disguise Nigel wore, a suit and a sympathetic look, a gentle voice and expensive cologne.  But that’s all it was, a clever disguise.  He stood before Will and was hidden in plain sight, the kingpin of drug trafficking standing inside the station and under their noses and no one could see behind his mask but Will.  He was surprised Nigel wasn’t walking around with a self-satisfied hard-on for his own cleverness.  
   
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about,” Will answered with a smile of his own. He didn’t know what he looked like, but the pull of lips wasn’t comfortable and if Nigel’s raised brows were anything to go by he probably looked a little crazy.   
   
Good.  He felt like he was going crazy.  
   
Good.  He was feeling again.  
   
Maybe not so good that the feeling he had regained was one of madness, but it was better than the nothingness that had been consuming him before.  
   
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding between us.”  So careful, it made Will want to reach through the bars and drag Nigel against them, force the monster hiding beneath his skin to come out and play, show its teeth to the police that milled through the building the same way he’d shown them to Will.  
  
“How in the fuck have we had a misunderstanding?” Will said calm and collected. It was probably the most calm he’d felt in years; a sense of control that shouldn’t have been there. He felt so many emotions flooding through him that he perched above them all and watched them flow.  “You want me, you’re willing to ruin my life to get whatever you can from me and I’m going to fight you on it until I don’t have anything left and you’re taking it in pounds from my flesh.”  
   
That made Nigel smile, a breathy laugh light with the sort of dark humor that Will knew was all Nigel. “I didn’t put you in here darling.”  
   
“No.  Officer fucking Anton put me in here,” Will spat, hands curling on the bars, “you just asked him to put me here.”  
   
He slipped his hands in his pockets, still so casual, so innocent, “I wanted to let you know that I’m dropping all charges against you.”  
   
Charges against him, charges fucking against him. “What charges against me?”  
   
“You had me investigated under false pretenses.  That’s harassment Will.”  
   
He reached between the bars and Nigel let Will’s fist grab him by the collar, his fingers brushing against the heavy gauze tapped to the side of Nigel’s throat as he pulled him against the bars.  “I had you investigated for being a fucking stalker.”  
   
“You have no evidence Will,” Nigel explained as an officer demanded their separation, “While I have given the police a video that proves my presence at Ouroboros from two to six.”   
   
Will wet his lips with the dart of his tongue, they were close, so damn close, he could feel Nigel’s breath hot against his face, close enough to kiss.  At least before an officer’s hand grabbed Will’s own and forced him to release the bastard who’d put him in there.  “I said step back from the cell.”  He directed Nigel three feet back, out of Will’s reach and he immediately regretted not having bitten the bastard when he’d had the chance.  
   
“I’ll be more careful,” Nigel says, not taking his eyes off of Will. He pays no attention to the officer who remains close after their parting, standing just behind him instead of near the door at the end of the hall.  
   
“There’s no footage at the restaurant is there?”  Will asked, almost accusing, he already knew the answer.   
   
“I wouldn’t know that William.  I can only supply them with video surveillance from my own establishment, not theirs.”   Wasn’t that fucking convenient?  
   
Will had expected as much and closed his eyes to lean his forehead against the bar, feel the cool metal against his skin and use its icy touch to ground him.  
   
“Will,” Nigel brought Will’s attention back to him, “I understand that you were under the influence of alcohol during the time of your allegations against me.”  Alcohol he had bought, “I’m sure you’re telling the truth when you say that you were harassed.” Stormy blue grey slid open to meet smoldering honey with challenge. “But it couldn't have been me.”  
   
“You lying son of a bitch," Will sneered, "Why are you here?  Why are you doing this to me?  What the fuck do you want?”  
   
“You made a mistake Will.  I don’t think a mistake should have you locked away for up to a decade because you were afraid, confused and drunk while giving a statement.”  Nigel explained and it dawned on Will that there is a very good chance Nigel actually hadn’t intended for this to happen.  
   
Hadn’t intended it, and could likely get him out.  
   
Will briefly wonders what this kindness will cost.  
   
“You fucked with the evidence and made my statement appear false.  Everything I’ve said has been true!”  
   
Nigel smiled, an illusion of the patience he didn’t possess. If Will were anyone else he would have left him by now, leave him to rot behind bars and learn exactly how unfair the world really is.  But this is Will, his Will and he would never survive prison.  Not with that baby face and those gorgeous lips, he’d be choking on cock before the end of the week and Nigel couldn’t have that.  
   
“I think you confused me with the man who harassed you, and I don’t think you deserve to be punished for a mistake.”  He slipped his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open, examined the number of cards tucked away inside and the thick wad of bills he’d brought just for his darling Will’s benefit.  “As I said before, I’m filing no charges against you.”  He would offer Will something he couldn’t refuse, not if he still wanted to eat this month.  “I took it upon myself to speak with the police chief in regard to your position here and the circumstances of your arrest.”  He closed the leather and tucked it away once more.  “I don’t believe that this mishap will follow through to the full extent that it could Will, I believe that you can and will walk away from this.”  
   
The knowledge of Nigel speaking to anyone on Will’s behalf was a horror all its own, but the idea that Nigel’s negotiations – no matter how illicit – could save him from jail time…he couldn’t help the grateful wave of relief that washed over him.   
   
Nigel might have put him in here, but at least it wouldn’t be following him for the rest of his life.   
   
Will didn’t offer him any thanks. Nigel supposed that was fair since the boy thought he was the one who’d put him in there, but he fully expected some form of gratitude for what he was about to offer him.  “I also know how college students suffer through school in regards to finances.”  Stormy blue grey eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I’m willing to pay your bail,” Nigel suggested.  
   
Will didn’t know if the offer was catching him by surprise or not. Whether he had expected for Nigel to come to his aid and make himself into a hero, or if he had honestly expected the man to leave him there to figure his own way out: punishment for slamming the door in his face.  
   
“Why would you want to pay my bail?” he asked apprehensive. “Either you don’t know me and should be pissed that I would pull a stunt like trying to press sexual harassment charges against you – charges that could ruin your career – or you’re the one who put me here and have no reason at all for bailing me out.”  
   
“Or, we met in a bar, we played a round of poker that you won, I asked you for a drink which unnerved you and had you running from the bar.  A few days later something happens to you and I get a visit from the police telling me that the same kid who ran off with over a grand from a game of poker is suddenly pressing charges for sexual harassment. I supply them with surveillance footage depicting otherwise.”  It was a convincing story in the worst kind of way, “this paints a very bad picture for you Will.  This makes you look like a kid who needs money and is looking for a settlement from the owner of a shipping company who will not want to take things to court.”  The calm indifference worn on his face was nothing compared to the sharp fire in his eyes, excitement for the lie he weaved. “I don’t think you’re looking for money.  I think you were spooked and I think something happened to you.”  
   
“And that something was not you.” Will said deadpan.  
   
“That’s right.”  
   
“You’re just some innocent in all this who isn’t pissed about charges and is feeling a sudden sense of generosity after I tried to throw your ass in jail?  
   
“You can’t afford to pay the bail William.  I’m offering you help.”  
   
Wasn’t that convenient?  
  
“Bite me.”  
   
That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted to hear.  “You’re not thinking this through.” Nigel tried to reason, “The cost of bail for a felony-”  
   
“I said no,” Will snapped and there was fire in his eyes.  It was a sort of raw energy Nigel had yet to see from the usually fearful youth and it was doing things to him, beautiful, awful things to him.   
   
He wet his lip, spreading his hands in defeat as he regarded the young man with half-mast eyes.  “Alright, it’s your choice darling.”  He looked back at the officer as he slipped a business card from the pocket of his jacket and was given a nod before sliding it through the bars.  “If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”  
   
Will didn’t accept the card and Nigel let the thin piece of cardstock drift to the floor of his cell, a minimalist design of a boat on stylized waves on the card’s back.  Will stepped on the card and Nigel smiled at him like a king, offering Will a pull of lips and a wink before turning to leave.  
   
The officer gave Will a partly sympathetic look before following after Nigel, seeing the man out.  It allowed Will a few brief moments of privacy to pick up the abandoned card and slip it into his pocket.  He didn’t know his bail yet, they hadn’t held the hearing for it, but he was desperately hoping it was something less than the amount hidden in his wallet.  
   
If it wasn’t…his fingers traced along the cards edge in his pocket and he closed his eyes and tried not to think about the debt that would be owed or the interest that would follow.  
   
“William Graham.”  He opened his eyes to look at the pair of officers standing outside his cell.  “The judge will see you for your bail hearing now.”  
   
His heart squeezed, another wave of fear flooding through him as they opened the cell to collect him.  He wished he were numb again.  
   
OoOoO  
  
TBC  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are dancing the cell block tango, your comments are trying to peek under the gauze on Nigel's neck. 
> 
> My muse was dead when I pushed my way through this chapter so please forgive it's dry feel. I promise drama, excitement and fire in the next chapter~<3


	10. Pancakes and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev comes to get Will and he finds out how far Nigel is willing to go to coerce him into a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, thank you for your incredible support and all the love and enthusiasm that has been sent to me these last few days in counter of the troll.
> 
> I can not tell you all how much I appreciate every word sent to me, the numerous comments and kudos and the private twitter messages, tumblr posts and e-mail of support I've been receiving in encouragement. 
> 
> THANK YOU.
> 
> Honestly if there were more readers like you, all of your who continue with my story and send your love, writers would never need feel ashamed of their work, worry for their next update or be concerned about a post. You're all amazing. 
> 
> I own nothing. 
> 
> Beta read by the unbelievable talented diedofennui ~<3 <3 <3

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out sooner.”  Beverly apologized for Will’s overnight stay in the holding cell as if it was her fault, like she was the one responsible for putting him there, not the asshole who’d sauntered out with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.  Whether he’d intended for Will to end up locked behind bars or not, it was still his fault Will had been arrested in the first place. Nigel had ended their conversation thinking he was going to come out on top, Will begging for his aid. 

Wouldn’t he be disappointed next time he decided to pop by for a visit and found nobody waiting?

“I wouldn’t have cared if it had taken you a week Bev, I’m just happy you came to get me.”  He was grateful to see her, even more grateful than when he’d thought it was Nigel outside his door and had found Bev instead.

“Somebody had to fetch you.”  She smiled, warm and reassuring and everything Will wished he could feel himself.  It was too damn bad he couldn’t return the smile.  “I would have been here for you last night if the bank had been open.”  She didn’t have fifteen hundred dollars on hand to post for Will’s bail. She had the same shitty account balance that he did, but Bev had the perk of being able to beg her parents for grocery money when things got tight.

“I’ll give you the money once we get back to the dorm,” Will promised. He would have handed it over now, but he didn’t want to flash so many bills out in the open.  “I’ve only got thirteen on hand though.” Just the money from his game, he had another three-fifty in his account, a little more than his tuition payment for the month and none of his rent. There was still his last cheque from the Coffee House to be cashed, and he could still try for extra hours at Happy Garden.  Not that more hours there would count for much, the food poisoning incident had really done a number on the restaurant.

“You can give me the rest later,” Bev assured him, “payday is coming.”  She put her hand on his shoulder and he was grateful for the simple contact, grounding and soothing when he felt so close to falling apart.  “Come on, let’s get you back to the dorm. You look like you didn’t sleep to well last night.”

“Yeah, okay.”  He almost didn’t want to return to the dorms, nearly preferred the idea of Nigel walking through his front door to the thought of facing all those people. His fellow students had heartlessly captured the moment of his injustice with their phones, only gawking at his misfortune and distress.  It was insult to injury, and his empathy would only heighten his distress once he was surrounded by his peers. Looks and whispers would echo through him like a house of mirrors.  He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from feeling their curiosity and pity. They’d speculate and theorize, but god forbid actually asking him what had really happened.

In truth, he wouldn’t able to deal with it if they confronted him en masse with questions.

It made going home – something that should have been a reprieve – daunting.  He climbed into Bev’s cherry red Hyundai and settled into the seat, it was familiar and comfortable and reminded him of half a dozen long weekend road trips they’d taken together.  “Did Lounds post her article on me yet?”  Yet… because it wasn’t a matter of _if_ she would post it, but when. The minute the officers stepped through the front doors she had surely started spinning a story in her mind, and the moment they’d stepped up to Will’s she would have been seeing headlines.

Thinking about Freddie’s certain machinations made him want to punch that bitch.

Bev slid into the driver’s seat and looked at Will as though she’d been expecting the question and sighed. “You knew she would write one.”  Will bit his lip and turned his attention out the side window.  He could only imagine what sort of story she’d decided to pair with a photo of him cuffed and being marched to the squad car.  It wouldn’t be long before Crawford was on her, forcing her to take down the slanderous article with a final warning.  But the damage would already be done.  There had been at least half a dozen flashes when he’d been ducked into the police car. Freddy didn’t have to do shit to spread the word of his arrest. Social media was most likely already doing it for her. 

Fuck his life.

“Hey, I know things look bad now Will, but it’ll be okay.”  She touched his arm and he tried to relax.  It wasn’t working.  “I don’t suppose it would make you feel better to know that I gave Brian ten bucks to scrub a public urinal with her toothbrush?”

He snorted a laugh and couldn’t stop the smile that split his face. “Really?”

“Hell yeah,” she rolled the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.  “I might not be able to punch the bitch out – gotta keep from getting a suspension – but I’m not above shallow revenge.”

He laughed, “I love you Bev.”

She met his mirth with a smile, “I know.”

They drove in comfortable silence after that, enjoying each other’s company and the peppy beat of pop music sounding from the radio.  It made things feel a little more normal, a little less like his world was falling apart at the seams and a little more like they were coming home together after a movie.  It was good and he would enjoy it for as long as he could, which he didn’t expect to be long, not if the past few days were anything to go by.

“So,” Bev broke the comfortable silence with a nervous start, something she didn’t really want to talk about then.  Or something she knew Will wouldn’t want to talk about.  His guess:  the topic was Nigel.   “Did he show up?”

Will had guessed right.  “Yeah, he came last night before my bail hearing.”  Despite the conversational topic, Will was still feeling comparatively buoyant. Riding in the car whilst talking _about_ Nigel was much preferable to sitting in prison talking _to_ Nigel. “He told me he spoke to the chief on my behalf.”

Bev gave him a look that spoke of both warning and concern. “I don’t think that’s a good thing Will.”  - As if he hadn’t realized that on his own - “I wouldn’t want a guy like Nigel speaking on behalf of my pet rock.”  Will shook his head, knowing the circumstances were nothing he could change now.

“I don’t suppose you can you try and talk the police out of…whatever he’s told them?” Bev ventured

She took a turn away from the university’s strip and Will smiled a little wider as they drove toward their favorite diner.  The food was mediocre, but the prices were good and the coffee was strong enough to peel paint.  The detour was probably for the best.  Will had only picked at the food in his holding cell and would be hard-pressed if asked to recall his last honest meal. He was borderline anorexic at this point and it was entirely accidental.

“I didn’t let him do anything,” Will corrected. “Nigel spoke to the chief of police and then he came to see me.”  He caught his lip between teeth to worry as he stared out the window, watching familiar streets slip by the way he’d seen them a hundred times before.  It was a nice day, warm for being late in fall, and only a little cloudy. It would have been a great day for a walk.  He wondered if it would rain later that night; he hadn’t exactly had a chance to check the weather when he’d been lying in his cell examining the ceiling.

Examining a business card…

He knew calling Bev had been the right choice, certainly the smarter choice, but that didn’t make coming up with the money any easier.  He really didn’t want to think about trying to make ends meet with only his Happy Garden wages. Despite holding down two jobs, he’d still needed to turn to gambling to make up the deficit in his rent. “He offered to pay my bail,” Will finished. He watched Bev’s reflection in his window as she spared him a worried glance before turning back towards the road.  She wasn’t just concerned for him, she truly feared for him.

And he feared for her.

“I’m glad you called me instead,” Beverley said after a minute, her grip had tightened on the steering wheel, brows drawn with troubled thoughts and concentration both.

“Yeah,” Will agreed, “me too.”  The idea of saving his rent money had been tempting.  It won’t be easy to make that sort of cash a second time, not without standing on a street corner.  Wouldn’t Nigel love that?

He’d have to pay rent late, and that would mean keeping his lease longer than he could afford.

“You hungry?”  Bev changed the subject as they pulled into the parking lot of a local 24 hour pancake house, sliding into an empty space and grabbing her purse before Will could either agree to some food or deny his growling stomach.  “I haven’t eaten yet and I’d bet money I don’t have that you haven’t eaten either.”

He almost laughed. “You’d win that bet,” Will answered, popping his seatbelt and climbing out of the car, poor or not he was still starving, and suddenly he was very, very aware of just how hungry he was.  It would be good to scarf down some pancakes and drink enough coffee to risk it replacing all the blood in his body. Enough caffeine and he’d at least be half-aware for the whispers that would greet him upon re-entering the dorms.

Then again, ignorance is bliss.

Not that there would be much of a chance for that with Freddy around. She’d happily print him off a personally signed copy of her damn article, likely accompanied with a large photograph featuring him accompanied by two officers.

Bev climbed out of the car, locking the door and looking over the roof to smile at her friend.  It was warm and cheery right up until it wasn’t, her face suddenly falling as she looked behind Will, over his shoulder.  He turned to see what had killed her good mood, and was met with a pillar of smoke, thick and black and close enough they could see the flames licking above nearby rooftops.  It couldn’t have been more than two blocks away…

He was suddenly aware of the smell of charred wood carried on the wind and felt his heart twist with a realization. “That’s Happy Garden.”

Bev looked to Will with horror and disbelief. “How do you know?” Will’s mouth was set in a tight line, silent fear on his face.

He took a slow breath, another, a poor attempt to calm himself when he was already so far past the point of breaking.  “Nigel had me fired from the Coffee House yesterday.”

Bev tried to seek his gaze but he didn’t meet hers, keeping his eyes on the pillar of smoke rising above the city, feeling the guilt that settled over him like a weight, with the knowledge that this was his fault.  Maybe not directly, but if he had been more willing, if he had just stayed for dinner, hadn’t run, hadn’t closed the door in Nigel’s face… maybe if he’d let the fucker bail him out of jail, then this wouldn’t be happening.

Indirectly, he’d burnt the restaurant to the ground. “I was expecting something similar to happen, to lose another job…hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, but this…I hadn’t expected this.”  He closed his eyes and forced them open again, made himself look at what he was guilty of.

He would own this.  This pain and guilt, it was his fault and he wouldn’t let himself escape from this hurt.

He owed the family an apology and he wouldn’t be able to give one until he got his phone back…or found them in a hospital.

If they made it to a hospital.

“Jesus Christ…”  She walked around the car and took him by the shoulders, forced his attention to turn back to her. “Will, you need to leave the city.”

He blinked away the fat tears that rolled down his cheeks in hot trails, finally meeting concerned brown eyes. “What?”  He gave her a look suggesting she was either kidding or had just sprouted a second head.  “No, I can’t leave the city.”  He smiled, but it was sardonic, bitter. He couldn’t leave. Why would she suggest it when he couldn’t leave?  “I have classes to attend.  I’ve finished two out of four years at this school, I’m not about to abandon my academics for this asshole.”  That would mean that Nigel had won, he’d smoked Will out and forced him from everything that he knew.  “Besides, I have a court day in two months.  I can’t go anywhere.”  Which - though it might not have been a part of his plan - definitely worked in Nigel’s favor.

“He’s going to kill you Will.”  Her eyes shone with the threat of tears and Will found himself feeling guilty for ever having dragged her into this mess.  She was worried about him when she should have been worried about herself. He certainly was.

“Nigel won’t kill me,” Will soothed. It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but it was the only thing he was sure of when it came to Nigel Lascăr.  Despite all of the chasing and torment, he wouldn’t kill Will.  He was far more likely to kidnap him, lock him in a room and slowly induce Stockholm Syndrome.  “I can guarantee you that much.”

“He just burnt down your place of work!  He stole your house key, got you fired, and has forced you into a date.”  She looked back toward the smoke. “How can you guarantee he’s not going to kill you?  I’m scared for you Will.”

“He won’t kill me,” he repeated again, wishing he couldn’t check on the Wang’s.  As it was he’d have to wait for a newspaper report about casualties like everyone else.

Will turned toward the diner and walked through its double glass doors.  His life was falling to ruins, but as unstoppable and infuriating as it might be, he still needed to eat.  If he kept going like this Nigel would be picking him up where he fell unconscious to the sidewalk and carrying him home.   “Come on, I’ll buy you a pancake.”

Quiet, Bev followed after him, the smell of smoke trailing on the wind behind them.

They sat in a window seat in the front of the dinner, facing out into the mostly filled parking lot and toward the still rising pillar of smoke.  Will had picked the seats for them.  He wanted to see it, watch every curl of smoke and lick of flame until it disappeared from the sky, knowing that it was for him.

He would have gone to watch the fire blaze with the other rubberneckers if it didn’t put him in the way.

He was more than enough trouble without adding that to the list.

He forced himself to swallow the bite of blueberry pancake and cut another.  It was hard to eat, each bite a challenge not to gag.  He didn’t want to eat, everything tasted like sand on his tongue and every bite threatened to come back up the way it had gone. The guilt rolled in his stomach, but he needed to eat or he would never be able to run, and running was important.

Bev had settled on picking the cranberries out of a muffin and watching her coffee go cold. Her eyes traveled between watching Will and watching the smoke.  “You’re sure you can’t bring this to the police?”

He laughed a hollow bark and finally took his eyes off the window to look at his friend. He drank down a deep swallow of burning coffee – he was one his third cup – to wash away the taste of blueberry sawdust.  “Talking to the police landed me in jail, remember?  I can’t turn to the law anymore, at least not for this.”

“You wanna go ‘Kill Bill’ on his ass then?”  She joked with a half-hearted smile that he appreciated.

“I’m not too good with a sword,” he joked back.  With half a plate of pancakes down he couldn’t eat anymore, probably should at least make an attempt, but the thought made his stomach cramp. He pushed the plate to the side and focused on his coffee instead.  “I’ll think of something.”  He had no idea what, short of going after Nigel with a gun he didn’t think there was a way to get away from the man.  Even if he didn’t have an impending court date, even if he wasn’t tied down to the city, Will was sure Nigel would find him if he ran.

He seemed the type used to getting what he wanted, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to work for it.

Will just happened to be what he wanted.

Bev wished she could argue, fight Will on it, try to force a reasonable answer beyond vague promises of his safety, but she knew pushing would do little more than panic him further. Right now he seemed to finally be relaxing into some protective state of numbness.  He was smart and so was she, they’d think of something, but until then Will needed a few minutes break from the constant onslaught of terror that had been his life the past few days.

A movement from one table over caught Will’s eye and he watched as another patron abandoned his newspaper – sticky with syrup and stained with coffee – to gather his things and pay.  Will waited until he turned his back and reached over to grab the black and white folded news piece.  “Will,” Bev grimaced, watching him wipe sticky fingers on a napkin, “that’s gross.”

“Yeah, but I want to check the weather,” he countered, scanning the headlines as his eyes traveled down the front page looking for a weather report.  He forced a slow breath, stormy eyes locked on Helvetica print. “Can I borrow your phone for a sec?”

“Sure.”  She fished the smartphone out of her purse, punching in its unlock code before sliding it across the table to Will.

He turned the newspaper around for Bev to read as he picked up the phone and pulled a business card from his pocket.  A small picture of Jack Crawford, Dean of the New Orleans School of Forensics, sat on the bottom of the page – a missing persons ad by his name.  Bev covered her mouth with a hand as she read the small article detailing his last known whereabouts and request for sightings.

Will swallowed, throat tight as he listened to the phone ring, one full roll passing before a voice smooth as poisoned honey answered on the other end.  “Nigel Lascăr, Global Shipping.”

He wet his lips and forced himself to breath, turned to look out the window one last time and watch the plume of smoke rise over the city.  This was his doing, and he would own his mistake.

“I’m ready for that date.”

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos drinking the syrup, your comments are roasting marshmallow's over the smoldering ashes of Happy Garden.
> 
> The author is cackling as she looks over venues~<3


	11. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Will go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that this is a chapter a lot of people have been waiting for and I had a horrible fear of fucking it up. I re-wrote this baby three times before I felt settled enough to send it off for editing, so lots of hard work in this piece and sadly it's a LOT longer than I had anticipated for the date night. :B But here's hoping you all enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you all my lovely readers for having stayed with me to read this story to it's end and thank you all for leaving me so many kudos and comments and for offering me so much love and support for this horrible, horrible piece. I really am going to hell for this. XD
> 
> **WARNING**
> 
> Alright, there's a little mention of confinement in this chapter for anyone who's bad with that shit. Sorry in advance, but it's only a mention in conversation in the beginning. 
> 
> Okay, let's go!
> 
> I own nothing!!
> 
> Beta read by diedofennui, an unbelievably talented individual I'm happy to call friend~<3

“You can’t do this.”  It wasn’t Beverly’s first protest to Will’s arrangements and it wouldn’t be her last.  He appreciated that, knowing she would fight him on his stupid decision. Fight until he was past the point of no turning back, partway way down the street strapped in by Nigel’s side in the midnight black viper.   
  
Too bad he couldn’t heed her sound advice, not if he wanted this to end. “I can do this, and I am.”   
  
“Will you’re going to get yourself killed or worse.” Bev was right, there were things worse than death.  There were the moments leading up to it, or the captive lives of those who could only wish they had chosen death. “He’s going to lock you in a room, a fucking room, and keep you like a pet.”  She wanted to throw things at him, maybe put him in a strangle hold and keep him under her bed.  
  
Will would have done the same for her.  
  
Biting his lip he forced a slow deep breath and met his friend in the eyes.  “He won’t do that.”  
  
It didn’t seem to provide her with the reassurance he’d been hoping for.  “How the hell can you know what he will and won’t do?  He’s a psychopath!  You can’t predict him, so stop trying to think like him!”  Not the right words, very much the wrong words.  She knew it as soon as they left her mouth. They kissed the air like poison and there was no taking them back.  
  
Too many hours locked in the same room with Freddy, or too long knowing Will and his mind and how he worked.  It was true.  It just wasn’t right for her – Bev of all people – to call him out on it.  “That’s not…I didn’t mean it like that Will.  I know you can’t help it when you see things from another-persons perspective.” She felt like she was babbling, but knew she needed to make Will understand.  “I know it’s too many mirror neurons and that you’re fighting to try and keep your sense of self.  I just, I mean he’s insane and you can’t predict insane.  No matter how hard you try, if you get inside his head you’re only going to make things worse for yourself.”  
  
“Bev, I’m not in his head.”  Not yet at least. He could feel Nigel whenever he was near, the same as he could feel everyone else, but he hadn’t carved out a piece of himself to be replaced with the killer who stalked him, not yet.  Will would need much more contact for that, more time getting to know him, watch the little ticks of his body, how he moved and how he talked. Will would have to encourage his empathy to delve into Nigel’s mind instead of fighting against the onslaught every time they met.  That didn’t mean he didn’t have some grasp on the man and his desires.  “Nigel is adamant that I be willing,” he explained to her, “that’s why this is happening. He’s dead set that we have our drink and that I instigate it myself, no more running.  If anything beyond a drink is going to happen, he’ll want me to be willing for that too.”   
  
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Beverly ground out. “I have half a mind lock you in Freddy’s closet.  Really I should, Jimmy and Brian would help me in a second.”  Her words rang with anger, but Will knew that Bev cared deeply for him, her sharpness hid her fear. Will just wished he weren’t worrying her so much.  Bev swiveled around, grabbing her purse to rummage inside.  
  
“Nigel is slowly picking my life apart to get to me Bev, if you stop me…” his words faltered. The outcome that he expected if Bev persisted would be the end of him. “You’d be next.”  
  
She stilled for half a moment, hand buried in her purse, eyes focused on the bag as she took in his warning. The words sank into her like a knife.  A wave of fear passed over her, and for a moment she had a taste of the adrenaline that Will had been running on for three days. She grabbed her purse by the base and shook it upside down, watching protein bars, note books, papers, make-up, pens and wallet fall free.  
  
A small aerosol can tumbled out last.  
  
“I know,” she said in answer to Will’s fear.  She picked up the palm-sized bottle, a minty green label for breath freshener on the front.  “I still don’t want you to do this.”  She tossed him the can and he raised a brow at the mint leaves and curvy script.  
  
“Are you encouraging me to get laid now?”   
  
She snorted, shoving beauty products and school notes alike back into the bag.  “I told you before that the next time you went to do something dangerous, I would come with to keep your skinny ass safe.”  The edges of Will’s mouth pulled in a smile and he slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket.  “I can’t come with you, but I can give you my pepper spray and pray you chemical burn the fuck outta his eyes before the end of dessert.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Someone has to look after you.  You suck at looking after yourself.”  
  
Neither of them laughed but they shared a strained smile in good humor. Will checked his watch.  “I’ve gotta go.  He’ll be here in a couple of minutes and I don’t want him sending anyone looking for me because he thinks I’m hiding out on campus.” Or sending anyone looking for Bev because he reneged on his date.  
  
“I’d say call me, but you don’t have a phone.”  She looked out the dorm window into the darkness. At half past seven, the sun was gone leaving the sky dark, a heavy overcast of threatening clouds making the night seem even darker without the stars.   
  
Will hoped it wouldn’t rain, that seemed too “horror flick” for him given the current circumstances of his date.  “I’ll see if I can get it back.  I don’t exactly want Nigel having my phone.”  He walked toward the door, ready to meet with the devil himself and was stopped by an all-encompassing hug.  “You better come back, Will.  Don’t you dare do this to me and not come back.”  
  
He grabbed one of the hands around his middle and gave it a squeeze, smiling sorrowfully over his shoulder at his friend before easing her arms from his waist, he wished he could make that promise. Will paused a moment with his hand on the door when his sight caught on something that made him smile.  “Hey, can I borrow that?”  
  
OoO  
  
Will walked the concrete path off the dorm grounds toward the street.  He was greeted once again by the image of Nigel as he had seen him before, parked across the street, leaning against his car as he waited for Will. The cigarette pinched between his fingers sent curls of smoke into the beam of light cast by the halogen street lamp.   
  
No obnoxiously printed button-down today, just a plain black bowler shirt and jeans.  “Evening darling,” he purred, dark eyes roaming over Will as he approached. He was appreciating the view the same as he might a work of art, a softness in his eyes as he watched the movement of lean muscle beneath Will’s clothes.  “I hadn’t thought I’d be seeing you so soon.”  
  
“You figured I’d break and you’d get to play hero, pay my bail?” Will offered. He stopped a few feet away from the psycho, it left him standing in the street but the roads were oddly quiet. “Are you disappointed?”  
  
Nigel took one last lungful of smoke, blowing a silver stream before dropping the butt to crush under foot.  “Not in the slightest.  You ready to go?”  
  
“Yeah, in a second…” Will strode forward, the tight ball of his fist slamming into Nigel’s well-defined cheekbone, leaving the man sputtering a string of foreign curses in its wake.  
  
He turned back to Will, eyes bright with danger and narrowed in warning, the killer peeking out from his disguise of flesh and blood, his smile all teeth and dark cheer.  “You never told me you liked to play rough, darling.”  He touched his cheek and felt the blooming heat beneath it. There would be a bruise, a beautiful mark of blue and purple maring his face, left by his foolish and beautiful darling.  “You don’t want to play rough with me Will.  I will win.”  Still he smiled, pleased by Will’s show of fiery emotion even as Nigel felt the skin growing tight against his cheek, the flesh beginning to swell.  Still, like a gentleman, he grabbed the handle and opened the car door for his unwilling lover.   
  
“I think a punch is the least of what you deserve Nigel,” Will said quiet and even. He climbed into his seat and let the mad man close the door behind him.  If he was to be a bird in a gilded cage, he’d be a bird who could bite.  
  
“You’re right,” Nigel agreed, closing his door and sliding the key into the ignition. He looked at Will’s reddening knuckles and his smile turned soft.  “I deserve that and worse.”  They peeled away from the curb, Nigel watching as his darling grabbed the side of his seat.  He’d have to follow the rules of the road if he wanted Will to relax, take a little of the edge off for their night together.  “But you won’t be the one putting me down darling.  You’re not the type to kill.”  
  
Nigel had met a lot of fucking people in his life – probably killed nearly half of them – and the boy sitting next to him, for all the fire curled tight in his belly, wasn’t a killer.  Not everyone was, not even in Nigel’s line of work.  He respected that.  Not all of his men were asked to take somebody out, but they were expected to do their fucking job, whatever it was, and do it right the first time.  
  
Will sat quietly, watching the stream of streetlights flicker past his window and trying to calm his frayed nerves.  He was anxious, his stomach knotting as he considered his idiotic plan.  
  
“So how long do you plan on keeping this up?” Will asked. The car had slowed to a velocity that was still over the speed limit, but not worth the attention of the cops. Will felt marginally safer with Nigel paying heed to stop signs. “Until you fuck me?  Will you stop ruining my life then?  Stop getting me fired, burning down restaurants, and kidnapping anyone who tries to help me?”  It was too coincidental for Crawford to have gone missing just after Will had come looking for aid.  Whatever had happened to him, had to be Will’s fault.   
  
“You don’t like to beat around the bush do you darling?” Nigel laughed, already enjoying his night. Will’s gumption was remarkably attractive; if this was his effort to drive Nigel away, he was failing miserably.  “I’m looking to date you,” Nigel started, “what I’m interested in is getting to know you better-”  
  
“I don’t want to date you,” Will cut him off, but he was met with a sly smile in return.  
  
“I can be a really nice guy. You keep making this more difficult for yourself than it has to be.”  Will turned back to looking out the window as Nigel continued. “It’s not about sex. That’s a perk if it happens and a gift for you to give. It’s not for me to take.”  
  
Will scoffed, “Just my time and livelihood.”  
  
“You’re a bitter little bitch when you want to be.”  
  
“I can be.  You should get used to that if you plan on keeping this up.”  
  
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Nigel didn’t seem put off at all, and Will wondered what it would take to push him.  He’d seen the truth of Nigel’s patience level when he’d laid those men out on the sidewalk. Nigel didn’t know the meaning of the word, but he suddenly seemed to have it in spades for Will.  “Since you asked,” Nigel said conversationally, “you should know I didn’t burn down Happy Garden.”  Will kept his eyes on the window, Nigel continuing before he could offer another snappy remark.  “I paid the family to close up shop.  They burned it down themselves.”  
  
“They what?” Will was gobsmacked, unable to believe the quaint little family he’d worked with for years would choose to see their livelihood destroyed.  
  
Nigel turned onto Washington Avenue.  “They burned that place to the ground all on their own.  Took the money and ran.”  Nigel laughed, he thought it was a pretty clever idea: take his bribe, close up shop, and then torch the place to try for the insurance money too. They had been slowly sinking and they’d known it, it’s why they’d taken his bribe so easily, swayed by the exorbitant figure he’d offered.  Moving shop and starting fresh under a new name would do wonders for them in the long run.  
  
That…Will didn’t want to believe that.  It made it feel like everyone was turning against him.  “What about Mr. Crawford?”  
  
“Who’s that?”  Nigel parked with a smoother grace than he had their first run out, and Will didn’t feel the need to throw himself from the car.  
  
“A Dean at my school.  I went to him for help and now he’s on the missing person’s list.”  
  
“Quite honestly darling, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
As before, Nigel walked around the car to guide his date, slipping an arm around Will’s waist as they walked toward the restaurant.  It was another location that would never have accepted Will in his current attire, but he knew Nigel would buy their way into it anyway. It made him tense, shrinking against the body next to him in uncomfortable anticipation. Nigel stopped walking, pausing where they should be crossing the street as he felt Will become ridged beneath his arm.  He didn’t want Will to feel uncomfortable, he wanted to see the boy relax and open up. He wanted him relaxed in his surroundings and free to express that lovely fire that Nigel knew burned inside of him.  
  
Nigel’s ability to get them into nearly any restaurant in town meant shit to Will.  He didn’t enjoy it, and the point of their evening was for Will to enjoy himself.  
  
Instead of crossing the street, he pulled Will to follow him farther down the strip and around the corner, earning a confused look from the man under his arm. The revelation about Jack Crawford and the sudden change in destination had Will puzzled.   
  
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”  Will said eventually, looking back toward the restaurant he wouldn’t be forced to suffer through.  
  
“I’ll look into it for you, but if something happened it wasn’t my call.”  Nigel considered that he wasn’t the only one Jack Crawford might have approached.  If he’d gone looking for Nigel at Ouroboros, he might have run into Draco.  It would have been the same unhappy ending if he’d found Nigel, but at least this way he wouldn’t be taking the heat from his darling Will.   
  
Will almost felt a little grateful for Nigel’s offer. He could tell – unfortunately – that Nigel was telling the truth, he honestly didn’t know who Will was talking about.  If he really was willing to look into it…“Thanks,” he said uncertainly.  He owed him that much, for Crawford, just in case. If there was any chance of finding him alive, Will wanted it to happen, and keeping Nigel happy would help that happen.  
  
This wasn’t just about Will anymore.  
  
“You like pubs?”  Nigel asked, eyeing a bar not too far down the strip.  He’d heard of the place, one of Anton’s preferred spots, but he’d never been himself.   
  
“A bar is fine.”  
  
“You’ve no fucking intention of making this anything pleasant for me, do you?”  Nigel smiled, and Will found himself smiling back, he liked the way his cheek was holding bright red where Will had hit him.  There would be a purple mark there in the morning and Will would be able to lay claim to that.  He felt proud.  
  
“None.”  
  
Nigel laughed and Will found his mirth contagious as they entered the dimly lit bar.  It was rustic, weathered to look vintage despite only a couple years in business.  They stood at the entrance waiting until one of the underpaid waitresses greeted them with pseudo glee, eventually seating them by a man in a kilt, the apparent uniform of the place.  
  
Nigel ordered a beer before flipping open the menu, and Will surprised him by ordering whiskey, no ice.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d be looking to have a drink,” Nigel said with a quirked brow. He knew Will had regretted his decision to drink with him the last time, and obviously their first attempt at drinks together had been a wash.  
  
“I like scotch and whiskey,” Will said with indifference, opening his menu to read over the multitude of deep-fried, traditional grub. “I generally drink cheaper stuff at home.”  And a lot less of it then he intended to drink tonight.  
  
A man after his own heart. “You can order something better if you’d like darling, there’s some decent scotch on the menu.”  
  
“I like Jameson.  Thanks.”  
  
A waitress named Molly - their server for the evening - approached with their drinks a few moments later and the pair placed their orders.  Nigel barely waited for the waitress to leave before turning to his date, “Will, tell me about yourself.” The question seemed to catch his darling off guard but it shouldn’t have, not with how thoroughly Nigel had been pursuing him.  He should have known that Nigel would ask, that he wanted to know this beautiful man inside and out, to know his mind as intimately as his body.  
  
This was where the concept of dating intimidated Will, as a man who had never dated before – unless his attempt to climb out of a five-star restaurant’s window counted – he had no fucking clue where to begin with this sort of small talk.  What the fuck did normal people tell their date?  Was it like a goddamn interview?  
  
“You start,” Will insisted, settling back in his chair to take a swallow of whiskey. It burned in a way that spoke of decent drink and he enjoyed the underlying flavor of smoke on the back of his tongue.  
  
“I was born and raised in Bucharest, Romania.  I moved to the United States after pursuing an entrepreneurial track in college, and then I studied law.”  He knew he didn’t look the type to go into something as tedious and time-consuming as law school, but it was a lot fucking easier to avoid getting caught in an illegitimate business if you knew the system you were fighting against.  
  
So many people thought he was a fucking idiot, and he loved to shove their faces in it when their plan to undermine him came back to pierce their skull like a lead slug.  
  
“You’re a lawyer?”  Will finished his drink in a swallow and looked again at the thug sitting across from him with a crooked smile and a quirked brow.  If Nigel was a lawyer he either needed another drink or he needed to stop.  
  
“Fuck no,” Nigel laughed, “I said I studied law, I don’t have the patience to deal with assholes like myself for a living.”  And there was a difference between studying the law and learning how to apply it in court.  
  
“Is that why you stole Brown’s business?”  The waitress returned with their orders and Will asked for a triple to replace his empty glass.  
  
Nigel took another leisurely swallow of beer and eyed the boy who was obviously out to get drunk.  Will had been cautious with him before, the alcohol had made his cheeks a bit flushed thanks to no food and too much fear, and he had obviously regretted the decision to imbibe. It was different this time though, Will wasn’t being cautious, he was being deliberate.  “You want the bottle?” Nigel asked before the young woman could turn away.  
  
Will looked at his glass and shrugged, he’d planned on drinking whether Nigel paid for it or not.  If the man wanted to buy him the bottle instead of letting Will wait the few minutes between measured shots, he wouldn’t stop him.    
  
“Whatever’s left of the bottle and another glass,” Nigel said, but his eyes were still on Will, still watching the man trying to keep his cool. He wasn’t quite there yet, uneasy glances and subtle shifts speaking loudly enough to Nigel that they could have been written in neon lights. But Will was trying, and if he felt the need to drink his way to courage, Nigel would give him all the liquor his liver could handle.  
  
He liked brave Will, but it made him wonder if the little bitch had a knife.   
  
“You were about to tell me how you stole a company,” Will prompted once their waitress had left.  
  
Nigel wasn’t stupid.  Maybe Will hoped he wasn’t too keen, but Nigel hadn’t lasted as long as he had by being a sucker.  He’d been honest with Will before, but that was when he’d known the weight of the kid’s cell phone sat comfortably in his own pocket.  There had been no way for the truth to lead back to him then.  Nigel hadn’t checked Will’s pockets tonight, and if he didn’t know better he’d say that the boy was working on his own little interrogation. “I inherited it. Now, quid pro quo.”   
  
Will frowned, “You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”  
  
“I’m not darling, you can check any newspaper dating back far enough, fucking Google if you like.  The old fuck left it all to me.”  
  
“But, why?”  
  
“It’s your turn to answer a question darling, tell me about yourself.”  
  
“Will you tell me later?”  
  
“Will you tell me why you’re suddenly so interested?”  
  
That was a fair question, and one Will had no intention of answering.  “My father was a fishermen, he died at sea and left me enough money to manage my first semester in collage.  I never met my mother. I currently have a stalker determined to take me out to dinner.  Why did Brandon Brown leave everything to you?”  He doused his fish in malt vinegar without tasting it first, took a bite, and decided it hadn’t needed it. Another poor life choice.  
  
Molly returned and Nigel ignored his chicken to accept the bottle, topping off Will’s glass and pouring one for himself.  “Bribery,” he answered honestly, sort of.  He’d bribed Brown’s lawyer and neither of them had ever looked back. “What made you choose forensics?”  
  
Will downed his triple and topped off his glass with another, “I want to be a cop.  I think I’ll do better in the field if I have a solid background in forensics first.”  He liked it…a lot.  Despite the nightmares endured after powerpoint slides, and the endless nights without sleep, he enjoyed what he studied and the science behind the death.  Probably more than he’d like to admit, even to himself.  “Why did you study law?”  
  
“I wanted to know the rules of the new country I would be living in.”  He ate a couple fries and continued his study of Will.  His eyes were on the table, his dinner or his glass, he hadn’t looked at Nigel since they’d sat down and he still shifted with the nervous energy of a man hiding something.  It wasn’t the same fear he’d shown their first two nights. Will was planning something and he was too inexperienced to know how to properly bottle that energy and keep it locked away inside.  He needed a better poker face if he wanted to start fucking around with men like Nigel.  
  
He’d have to make a point of showing Will how it was done.  
  
“You’re trying to get yourself wasted,” Nigel stated when Will made quick work of his second triple.  That made seven shots in fifteen minutes. “Wanna tell me why?  I’m fine with getting shit-faced, but you don’t really seem the type.”  
  
Will looked at his glass, tilting the heavy bottomed tumbler back and forth to watch a stray bead of amber skirt along its bottom.  “I’m bad at socializing Nigel, even worse in busy places.” And he hated talking about it even more. “That restaurant you took me to before, it was worse than here, but even this pub is still crowded.  It’s overwhelming for me.  I find it draining because of my empathy disorder. I can’t help but feel bits of the people interacting around me and it’s smothering when it’s so high energy.  I don’t generally go out and if I do I go to quiet places with as few people as possible.”  Nigel was a strong personality, overwhelming all on his own, but the bar too?  It was like a battalion hammering against him.  The quiet of the pancake house had been better, especially when his social partner had been Bev.  
  
From anyone else it might have sounded like a load of bull, but Nigel had read the article that bitch had written about Will, and he could see the change in him as he became increasingly drained by the atmosphere around him.  Oddly enough, he’d been more lively in the car.  “You want me to take you someplace with a private room?”  They could go to Hoshun, use the room he often rented for business and pay a little extra. The staff could switch the tables from the sturdy eight person to an intimate two.  
  
“I want you to take me home,” Will said softly, feeling his heart hammering, his head dizzy as he shot back another drink and pushed his plate away.  This was it, he could more than feel the alcohol buzzing around his head and he didn’t want to sober up.  
  
Nigel looked at their plates, barely touched with half a beer gone and more liquor than he’d expected ingested by the too skinny boy across from him.  “Taking you home usually comes after the food,” he said with an irate drawl.  This – one bite of fish, three fries and half a fucking beer – wasn’t a goddamn date.  
  
“I’m not hungry,” Will insisted.  He got up from his chair and to Nigel’s surprise took the older man’s hand to pull him up after him.  Taking a breath, he braced himself and tugged the man toward the door.  “I want you to take me home Nigel, your home.”   
  
OoOoO   
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are doing belly shots on the bar, your comments are cat calling the boys and throwing condoms on their way to the car.
> 
> The author is a victim in the trunk with a gun to her back not to fuck this up. XD


	12. The End Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel takes Will back to his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite possibly the part that you've all been waiting for. I hope it's no disappointment and you enjoy reading this piece as much as I've been enjoying writing it. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far with me, for leaving all your beautiful comments and generous kudos. I love hearing from you and seeing that you're enjoying the story, it makes me incredibly happy and is what has driven me to write as quickly and update as frequently as I have been. Thank you for encouraging me so much so far~<3 <3 <3
> 
> I hope to see you all in the chapters to come~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Beta read by diedofennui, thank you again for getting this chapter back to me as quickly as you have~<3

For a man who had been fighting against him at every fucking turn, eluding his advances and denying him with every rebellious fiber of his being - Will had skipped over just falling into Nigel’s net, and instead thrown himself right in.  
   
It had every warning bell going off in Nigel skull, but his cock was casting its own vote and deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth.  
   
Dropping enough money to cover their tab, and possibly that of the next booth over, Nigel followed Will away from their table, leaving a half-full bottle of whiskey to be dumped down the drain – a waste of money and good whiskey perhaps, but it was worth the money burned to have Will leading him out of the bar and back down the strip, hands clasped tight.   
   
Nigel slid a thumb over Will’s knuckles, considering that his hands were made to play piano, long quick fingers crafted with fine bones.  He would be good at it if he tried, certainly keen enough to pick it up quick, learn the notes with an easy touch.  Nigel could almost see him sitting on the bench, foot on the pedal and fingers dancing, his bright eyes closed to the world as he lost himself to the music.   
   
He wondered if Will could play.  
   
They strolled hand in hand, Nigel fingers sliding down to intertwine with Will's. He smiled when he felt the man grip him back.  This is what he’d wanted, the simple touch and gentle tug of the younger man drawing Nigel along, desiring Nigel as much as he was desired in turn, the two of them enjoying an evening out. And now driving home together to end their evening with an exhausting night in bedroom or bathroom or against whatever flat fucking surface they could find.  This is what he wanted, but he wanted it with Will relaxed and easy, not the ball of nervous energy and tightly wound tension that he was now.   
    
Nigel decided to feed Will’s curiosity in hopes that an honest answer to his earlier question would bring him ease, give his tireless mind an outlet to focus on: “I bribed his lawyer and she agreed to help me in exchange for a couple of million in cash. I had three years to procure the money in untraceable bonds, and got it to her in one.”   
   
His sudden confession didn’t seem to ease Will’s tension; instead he cast Nigel a wary look at the unexpected pronouncement.  Apparently, Nigel was shit at dating… he’d have to work on that.    
   
“I didn’t think you’d tell me.”  
   
“I said I wouldn’t lie to you,” Nigel reminded, “I meant that.”  He lifted their hands to press a kiss to Will’s reddened knuckles and smiled wide, broadly enough to feel the skin pull against the bruise forming on his cheekbone.  He wouldn’t lie to his darling, but that didn’t mean Nigel liked the idea of their conversations surreptitiously being recorded on whatever he might be hiding in his pocket. He considered it a strong possibility that the little vulpine at his side was trying to undermine him.  At least Nigel still had Anton, the man had dodged a bullet thanks to his general usefulness. It was likely that he’d need to use the man again for some evidence tampering if Nigel couldn’t lift whatever new device Will might be hiding.  
   
“You said there was no point in lying because of where this was going to end,” Will reminded him.  
   
“Mm,” Nigel hummed, noncommittal, “I did didn’t I.”  He worked his pack of cigarette from his pocket with one hand, catching the filter of one between his lips to pull the cigarette free before stuffing the pack back into his pocket. He refused to release the warm hand within his own for the sake of an easier light.   
   
Will surprised him by slipped his free hand into Nigel’s other pocket, withdrawing the Zippo for him. Nigel felt a pulse of fire in his veins at Will’s adventurous touch, sensing the warmth of Will’s hand against his thigh through the thin material of the pocket, the twist of clever fingers against his leg as Will struggled with the clumsy angle. It made his cock twitch, and twitch again as Will flicked the lighter off the thigh of his jeans, sparking a flame and lighting the cherry on Nigel’s smoke.   
   
Will’s nonchalant action was sexy, painfully beautiful, and driving home Nigel’s need to keep this creature by his side. Seeing the boy so bold and free around him, he wanted to see more – craved it like an addict in withdrawal.  
   
Taking a long slow draw he watched as Will flipped his lighter closed and slid it into his own pocket.  Little thief.  It was an easier movement then trying to twist around and push it back into Nigel’s pants, and the idea of the boy keeping something of his, anything, because he wanted to…“Will,” Nigel addressed through a breath of smoke, “You know I want you, I’m not going to say no-”   
   
Will didn’t let him finish, “Then don’t tell me no.”    
   
He wasn’t about to let the Nigel tell him they didn’t have to do this. If he said it Will might actually believe him, and he couldn’t afford to lose the courage he’d managed to build.  
   
Ever the thug masquerading as a gentleman, Nigel opened the door for Will to slid back into his seat and walked around the car to retake the driver’s side.  “Alright,” he said, “but it’s your choice.”  The engine rolled and Will felt his stomach flip.   
   
He knew that Nigel meant what he said, but at this point in the game, it just wasn’t fair.  Despite all of his machinations and coercion, he would still give Will an out, give him the choice to stop this before it reached the point of no return. Will wasn’t about to allow himself that out.  This was going to happen.  He wanted it to, somehow. Nigel’s words, for as dark and terrifying as the man could be, were comforting in this moment, terror and excitement both.  
   
Will could feel Nigel’s lust feeding into him, his eagerness to feel Will’s skin against and around him, breath coming in short hot gasps, body arched into ecstasy – it was feeding his own desires. The passion reflected onto him and turned trepidation into anticipation – turned curiosity into want.  He’d always found the man attractive, and honestly he could probably do worse than the dark and dangerous man by his side, all hard muscle and raw energy.  
   
Nigel spared an appreciative glance to Will, eyes soft before turning hungry, carnal, his glance settling low.  Will followed his eyes to the swelling bulge in his own pants and adjusted in his seat to look out the window, face growing warm as the car speed up.  
   
Nigel could see that Will was excited, maybe even as eager for this as he was, and it sent adrenalin like lightening through his veins, leaving him burning inside.   
   
It was a very long fifteen-minute drive from the bar to Nigel’s place, a small mansion on Lakeshore Drive.   
   
The neighborhood was ostentatious, a location made for people with money to show off that money, but less grand than the Garden District locale that Will had been expecting.  He’d figured that with all his wealth Nigel would want to live alongside the rich and famous, flaunting his money and mingling with movie stars. Instead they pulled into the driveway of a mini-mansion made of sandstone and cedar, right on the water.   
   
Will climbed out of the car to study the kind of home he’d only ever witnessed in movies. He didn’t live the kind of life that allowed him to step foot in something so grand. It was intimidating to look at the lavish house and know that in minutes he would be taken apart inside of it.  
   
“Not my favorite house on the strip,” Nigel said, locking the car with the press of a button, “but it was the only one on the market with a dock when I was buying.” He unlocked the front door and held it open for his darling.  
   
Stepping across the entrance would cement for Will the reality of his situation. This was Nigel’s house, he had asked to come here, was about to step inside. He might not even step back out again…at least not the same way he’d arrived.  
   
He wouldn’t be the same person as the Will who was entering it now. Nigel took his jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door, and leading him deeper into the house.  “You want a drink?” The place was cleaner than Will had expected for a bachelor pad, likely due to the aid of a hired maid.  He sure as hell couldn’t imagine Nigel getting down and dirty in the toilet with a sponge.   
   
The rooms were simple and masculine, rather tasteful if Will were to be honest, not overly lavish or showy, but comfortable.  There was a painting on the wall that looked like it could have been a photo for all its hyper-realism:  a rooftop view of a city, garish graffiti on some of the walls. It was an intriguing blend of the old and new, gothic cathedrals crammed next to twentieth-century modernity.  Will liked it  
   
The furniture had all been picked out for a man’s tastes – no woman’s touch in the vast house – dark leather furniture and masculine hardwood pieces making up the living room suite.  There was a bookshelf on one side with titles in an assortment of languages, and a TV mounted on the wall that had to be pushing sixty-inches.  
   
The sharp sound of a squeak had Will jumping out of his skin. He looked down and raised a brow at what was obviously a dog toy.  The bright rubber bone was covered with small doggy-teeth holes.  “You didn’t mention you had a dog,” Will said, leaving the toy to follow in the direction in which Nigel had disappeared, toward what he assumed would be the kitchen.  
   
“That a problem?” Nigel called. Will turned the corner to see him playing tug-of-war with a terrier spaniel cross, its whole back end wagging with the force of its tail as it fought for the rope.   
   
“I just wasn’t expecting it.” Animals required love and compassion. He hadn’t expected that from someone like Nigel.   The soft ticking of claws on tile and the cold touch of a wet nose had Will looking down to greet another dog, this a German Shepard.  “You have two?”  He smiled, crouching down to rub deep into the dog’s coat, scratching behind its ears as Nigel let the smaller beast win their game.  
   
“I’ve got two.”  Nigel confirmed.  “The one you’re rubbing up is Silviu, I bought him as a puppy to be a guard dog.  Spoiled the fuck out of him and dropped the idea of a guard dog to keep him as a pet instead. Settled on keeping a gun by my bed instead of sharp teeth and a loud bark.”  He watched as Will visibly relaxed, the tension melting from him as the smaller dog came to join the larger. The pair began snuffling and demanding for attention from the stranger Nigel had brought home. Will looked happy; opening up in a way Nigel hadn’t had the opportunity to play witness to yet. All for the small furry creatures.  It made him jealous, desiring that attention focused toward himself and away from his beasts.     
   
“I found the smaller one, Holyfield, on the side of the road.  Pretty sure it was a hit and run, little fucker lost an ear from head trauma, managed to keep her eye though.”  He’d seen the thing trying to crawl away with its head split open, too fucking stubborn to lie down and die.  He’d felt a sense of kindred with the bitch and brought her to a vet. The dog reminded him of his own close calls and determination to live.  
   
“Holyfield?”  Will laughed, “Like Evander Holyfield?”  
   
“I thought it suited,” he shrugged. “You like boxing?”  
   
“It’s alright. I can’t say I really watch the sport, but the fight between Tyson and Holyfield is a bit of a legend.”  It could have been the buzz from the booze, the calming atmosphere, or the soothing friendliness of the dogs, but he felt comfortable. The attention Nigel was giving him with soft loving eyes was making his guts turn in a different way.  “I take it you like boxing?”  he asked. Will turned his attention to the bottle of booze and tumblers on the counter.  It was Lagavulin, the same drink he’d skipped out on, and smiling, he poured himself a glass.  
   
Will was truly enjoying himself. He shouldn’t have been, but Nigel was being nice and the alcohol was making him warm and his empathy was reflecting all those feelings of affection and desire through his body, and honestly…the man was hot.  If Will was being truthful, Nigel was extremely attractive. Despite his having tried to destroy everything Will had created for himself, in some ways, Nigel treated Will better than the majority of people he had encountered in his life.   
   
What did it say for humanity that a stalker could treat him better than twenty-years worth of Will’s peers?  
   
“I box for the exercise,” Nigel admitted.  It was a hobby he enjoyed more than going to the gym and the explanation for the split on his nose.  Every boxer took a mean one to their face eventually; everyone had their nose broken.  He stepped closely behind Will, surrounding him, hands settling on the counter on either side of Will as he poured a second drink. He was sipping from his own tumbler while Nigel took his triple like a cheap shot. He was focusing his attention on far more interesting things, like the pillar of pale flesh curtained by loose curls before him, his skin begging to be bitten and sucked.  
   
Will bit his lip when he felt those arms leave the counter to wrap around him instead, Nigel’s breath warm as it ghosted over his neck. That brush of air was his only warning before the press of lips to his throat. The day of growth on Nigel’s face rasped against Will’s skin, contrasting with the soft sweep of tongue where his lips parted to taste him.  Will’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heated slide.  “Nigel!” he gasped, not knowing what he was doing, what he should be doing, what he should be saying.  It was so new, this touch, this simple thing was making his stomach swim with heat and he squirmed beneath the sensation.  
   
“Tell me what you want darling.” Nigel mouthed the words into his skin, making Will’s knees feel like jelly. He grabbed the counter for support, trying to think of what he should want as calloused fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, skirting against his skin, and making his stomach jump beneath the touch.   
   
Everything felt so new. The alcohol hadn’t numbed his body as he had hoped.  He could feel it, god, he could feel so much and it was amazing.  
   
“I don’t know,” Will admitted with shuttered breaths, his hand reaching up to card fingers through ashen hair, encouragement instead of denial. “I don’t know what I want.”  
   
It was honest, so fucking beautifully honest.  He had no fucking idea what he wanted Nigel to do because he had no fucking idea how to initiate sex or understand what he was feeling, what he should anticipate.  Watching porn was nothing like enjoying the real deal. Whatever Will had learned about the acts of pleasure would do little to aid him here.  “Would you like to take this to the bedroom darling?”  Nigel sucked a bruise into the soft flesh against his mouth, beneath Will’s ear – a place where everyone would see, where no shirt collar could hide – feeling the man shutter beneath him.  
   
“Yes.”     
   
He led him away from the dogs and the kitchen, down a long hall and into his bedroom beyond.  Nigel flicked the light, closing the door behind them, and Will didn’t feel trapped the way he’d thought he would. He didn’t feel as though Nigel was going to throw him down and dry fuck him into the mattress.  The man was kissing the back of his neck, working the hem of Will’s shirt from his jeans and pulling it over his head – all with a desire to give him pleasure.  
   
God, he hadn’t known he wanted this.  
   
Will shivered as the air cooled the moist warmth where Nigel’s mouth had been. He twisted in the man’s arms to meet Nigel’s lips with his own, opening for the searching tongue, feeling the slick heat slip inside of him. Nigel would fill him in other ways soon enough, and Will allowed himself to enjoy that feeling of heat, the taste of scotch and cigarettes on his tongue.  
   
He grabbed Nigel’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons until his fingers became frustrated and he jerked it off overhead. The motion necessitated a separation their bodies and gave Will a moment to watch the chiseled plans of muscle Nigel hide beneath his clothes.  The man was ripped.  
   
Swallowing back another breathy sound, Will allowed himself to be walked backward until his knees hit the bed and he settled abruptly over the soft duvet.  
   
This was everything Nigel had wanted. The fear that had haunted those stormy eyes was gone, desire and a trepidation of a different sort filling those depths now. There was uncertainty there, but it was laced with excitement at the influx of new sensation.  He wanted Nigel, wanted to feel the man seated balls deep inside him as much as Nigel desired to feel the tight heat of Will’s body wrapped around his cock – writhing in pleasure.  He would make this last.  Take his time, make it as good for Will as it would be for himself, have him coming back for more, looking for Nigel to give him again what no other would.  
   
He would ruin him.  
   
He would kill anyone who thought to touch what was his.   
   
“Just a second darling,” he ran fingers through the soft curls of Will’s hair, drinking in the lust-dilated eyes that stared back, wanting.  He was so fucking hard it hurt, and it was already a battle not to push the boy over and fuck him into the sheets.  Turning from the beauty waiting beneath him he opened his dresser to grab a bottle of lube and strip of condoms. Nigel was clean, and Will a virgin, so they were both safe, but condoms made for a quick and easy cleanup. Somehow Nigel thought that his darling would appreciate it.  
   
Will’s heart was racing, hammering in his chest and pushing the adrenalin spiking through his system. It was a high he almost didn’t know what to do with. His cock was pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans and it was a fight not to just strip himself down, to wait for Nigel as he grabbed the essentials. Thank god the man was prepared because Will wasn’t about to do this shit with just a handful of spit.  “Your back?” Will said, cocking his head, curious to examine the map inked into the canvas of Nigel’s skin, dark lines of interconnecting stripes marking countries and continents, small markers sprinkled among them like stars. “Why the map?”  
   
Nigel had nearly forgotten about it. That happened when you had a tattoo; after a while its existence on your skin is as normal as a freckle and you don’t think twice about it, but it was new to Will. “I didn’t always have money,” he explained, dropping to his knees in front of the curious boy. “I’ve come a long fucking way from where I started and I know how easy it can be to lose it all.”  That was how he’d gained a great portion of what he had now, by watching some other poor fuck lose everything they’d worked their life to obtain.  “Everything I own is imprinted on my body, every marker on the map a port or runway, warehouse or building.”  He popped the button of Will’s jeans and slid down the fly, drinking in the boy’s moan as the pressure was released from his cock, tenting the fabric of his boxer-briefs. “No matter where I go, I’ll never forget what I came from, it’ll make sure I’ll never forget what I gained.”  Short of being skinned, Nigel would carry this mark of his attainments forever.  
   
Will was squirming deliciously beneath his hands and Nigel relished the twist of impatient hips as his underwear was slipped down lithe legs to be discarded on the floor. Nigel pressed his hand against Will’s stomach, fingers spread wide to feel the tension of muscle, slowly lowering the younger man back, his body following Nigel’s silent instruction to settle into the bed.  Will’s mouth was dry, chest heaving and cock standing straight, hard and weeping for the hungry man leaning over him.  
   
Nigel felt like he could die, the look, the goddamn look in his Will’s eyes as he stared across the beautiful planes of his body. Storm blue eyes bright with want and need for Nigel, he didn’t even realize the instinctual spread of his legs in anticipation for the man seated between them. Will’s fingers curled into the covers as he watched as the man above him wet his lips, eyes locked on his own before Nigel sank down to take Will’s leaking cock into his mouth.  
   
He nearly screamed at the heat, the sudden encompassing warmth and sweep of tongue over his slit. The suction he hadn’t expected made Will thrash, twisting and bucking beneath Nigel with a crying moan.  “Ni-Nigel!”  Will couldn’t turn away, couldn’t pull his gaze from the intense amber that stared up at him, watching with thin lips stretched around the flesh of Will’s cock, cheek red and swollen where Will had struck him. It was beyond anything he’d been able to imagine.  This was incredible…he felt like he was being taken apart by the intensity of Nigel’s mouth on his flesh.  
   
The touch of a finger, cold with lube, surprised him, and Nigel’s hand grabbed Will’s hip to still him as the first digit slipped inside.  It didn’t hurt the way he’d expected, an unpleasant pressure fading to overwhelming pleasure when Nigel hollowed his cheeks to make Will forget about the alien sensation of a finger inside him. Will was fighting to arch again, hips twitching and bucking, unable to move as he was held securely with the press of Nigel’s hand.  
   
He cried again, another wave of pleasure taking him when one finger stretched to two and the feel of Nigel hooked inside him made him sob. He stroked the bundle of nerves Will had known to exist but had never thought to touch, sending a bolt of lightning that felt like fire through his spine, as his toes curled against the sheets.   
   
Nigel watched as Will twitched beneath his hand, spasming with pleasure he couldn’t control or direct. It made his cock leak to know that he was the cause, the source of Will’s undoing as he made the boy all but forget his own fucking name.  Nigel’s cock ached for release and he almost believed he could get himself off without pushing himself into Will’s body.  But that would be a waste, and he didn’t want to waste this, this opportunity of willing flesh.  
   
With another whimper, teeth pinching against his lip enough for the rosy flesh to swell, Will pushed himself up on his elbow, watching the way Nigel worked him open with two fingers, then three. His body stretched wide for the cock that would soon replace the teasing fingers, and Will’s hand shook as he slide it through Nigel’s tousled hair, pushing the strands back from burning honey eyes. He was drowning in the bad man’s desire for his flesh.  “Nigel,” he whispered, unsure how much longer he could last. Will’s fingers brushed the edge of gauze and tape running along the man’s neck, and he caught its edge to pull free, curious and wanting as he was worked closer and closer to his edge.  
   
Nigel let him tug at the tape, his fingers twisted inside Will to drive another sharp moan from the body beneath him. Will’s eyes focused a moment as he pulled away the gauze away and was met with the figure of the newest addition to Nigel’s acquisitions.  
   
Will’s breath caught at the artistic image needled into Nigel’s flesh: The back of a man standing naked, shapely hips cocked, with a lithe toned body and the soft twist of a glance over his shoulder. The only color in the entire piece the stormy blue eyes peeking out from beneath a mop of soft curls.   
   
Nigel’s triumphs were inked into his skin.  
   
Will’s eyes. His face. His fucking body.  
   
Will was wrong about Nigel’s endgame, his desire wasn’t just to lay claim to Will’s virginity, it was to own him, conquer and keep him as certainly as he kept his empire.  
   
Will came harder then he’d ever cum in his life, choking Nigel on his sudden climax and planting his foot against the man’s shoulder to throw him back. It forced Nigel’s mouth off his cock and fingers from his hole as he thudded backward, onto the floor and away from Will. The younger man scrambled from the bed in a twist of coverlets, grabbing his clothes as he dashed from room on shaking legs.  
   
Seated on his ass with cum dripping down his chin, Nigel whipped the wetness from his mouth onto the back of his hand. He listened to the mad scramblings of Will through the house, the only pause in his sprint presumably allowing for the donning of pants. The sound of the door slamming had Nigel laughing, smiling to himself as he reached up to touch the silhouette inked across his flesh.   
   
So close, he’d been so fucking close.  But he’d have him yet.  
   
Nigel always got what he wanted.  
   
OoOoO   
   
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are bitch slapping Nigel for fucking it up, your comments are following drunk Will to make sure he gets home okay.


	13. The Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets a few people Nigel's pissed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings!
> 
> So, apparently I cock blocked you all. Promise to make that all up to you with something steamy later on and a possible epilogue for the blue-balled frustration. C;
> 
> For anyone squeamish this chapter is violent. 
> 
> Also like to point out that I've been leaving foreshadowing and hints all through this story for what's to come. Most of which I don't think many of you have picked up on. At least if the mass confusion I continuously create is anything to go by. Hopefully this chapter will answer a number of questions you may have been pondering and you'll be able to think back on some of those hints and recognize them from earlier chapters. <3
> 
> I own nothing but am debating revamping this piece for e-book because why the hell not?
> 
> Beta read by the beautiful and talented diedofennui. Thank you dear~<3

It was him. The fucking end game was him and Will couldn’t think of a way to escape that, escape Nigel.  God he was screwed.  So fucking screwed and he didn’t have anyone to turn to.  Not with Crawford gone missing and even the police working against him.  Anyone Will turned to would find themselves in a world of blood and pain and Will was under no delusions about that.  Nigel might not have taken Jack, but that didn’t put him above kidnapping or killing those close to Will if he thought it might convince Will to see things his way.

He’d already dragged Bev into this, now he needed to find a way to get her out.

What he really needed was to disappear, vanish from New Orleans and maybe even the United States, but he knew it wouldn’t work.  Not without a warrant being issued for his arrest, not without going to prison for who knows how long, knowing that Nigel would be waiting for him with the ruins of his life on the other side when he got out.

He ran on shaky legs until he couldn’t tell the street-side buildings from the green belts of trees, everything blending into a blurry swirl of colors.  His lungs burned and he sucked back air in deep gasping swallows.  One heavy step after another, he tried to push on until he was sure he would collapse, until his legs couldn’t be moved and he dropped to the ground.  The air was cold against his burning skin and the threat of rain hung heavy in the air. A crack of thunder rang out overhead and sheets of lighting ignited the sky like a torch, the threat shifting to a promise.  He would be soaked soon enough if he didn’t push himself back to his tired feet, find cover and a payphone – an ancient relic of technology that was near impossible to find these days – but he needed one, that or a convenience store friendly enough to let him use their phone.  Despite his desire to keep her out of it, he needed to call Bev for another pick up.

Thank god he knew at least a few numbers and wasn’t completely reliant on the contact list in his phone.

Forcing himself back to his feet, he trudged on. His legs were unable and unwilling to cooperate with another run, but he pushed himself into a half-hearted trot and worked on trying to catch his breath.

Tonight hadn’t gone the way he’d planned, nearly every course he’d hoped to take trampled in one way or another.   His fingers skimmed the borrowed recorder in his jacket pocket, the piece he’d taken from Beverly’s room – though it hadn’t been hers to give.  It was Freddy’s; left to charge on the side table by the door. He’d taken it without a second thought once Bev had told him that little tidbit.

Crawford had gone missing, and Will’s self-sacrifice to the devil had been intended to aid in bargaining to get him back.  That certainly hadn’t worked since Nigel didn’t know who the man was or how he had gone missing.  Will had also been hoping for an admission of kidnapping, murder, and arson, instead he’d gotten a confession of bribery.  Nigel had only admitted to a crime committed ages ago that would ultimately be dismissed in court. It would be easy to find a lawyer smart enough to pull up the clause regarding recording without awareness.  Will might have been able to get around that clause if it had been a confession to murder, but a decade old crime of bribery?

He was more likely to piss Nigel off and have the tape tampered with by Anton then get the man arrested with his evidence.

His fall back had been to fuck him and leave.  So many people wanted what they couldn’t have, chased it until they had it once, and then didn’t want it anymore.  They get tired of their new toy and forget it exists within weeks of its attainment. He’d thought Nigel would do the same.  He thought the man had wanted him because he was a virgin, someone Nigel wasn’t allowed to have, wasn’t allowed to touch.  Will had thought if all else failed, he could give the man what he wanted and be done with him, figured Nigel would lose interest within a couple of weeks. His desire would wane and die and Will would once again be left alone.

Apparently that wasn’t the case…

He swallowed back the ball of self-pity threatening to consume him and focused on finding a store or gas station of some kind on the strip instead.  He didn’t know the area, couldn’t even guess where the fuck he’d run to.  Wherever he was, it still wasn’t far enough from Nigel.  Campus would be the only “mostly safe” place from the monster masquerading as a man, and even that was only as long as the semester ran…if he could pay his tuition.  Then there would be three months of summer break during which he would either need to sign up for courses to stay safe or disappear altogether.

And he could only disappear if his court date allowed.

The sharp pain of impact against the back of his skull sent Will sprawling, thrown forward to catch himself on hands and knees, the promise of road rash on his palms and dark bruises on his knees.

A near-blinding pain bloomed at the base of his skull. Sharp and stabbing it curved over his crown and behind his ears in fiery pulses.  He didn’t have time to think, to wonder what had hit him. A kick to his stomach rolled him onto his side, the air knocked from him with the blow to his gut. He curled onto the sidewalk, coughing, choking for air with watering eyes.

“Hi there,” he was greeted with a far too chipper voice, a man – not Nigel – standing above him.

Desperate to fill his lungs with shallow gasps, Will swallowed air and watched a pair of soft Italian shoes beneath ivory suit pants step into view.  “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”  Will swallowed hard and tried to move, to see his attacker and know who had decided to beat him to the ground.  A pair of combat boots came to join the Italian loafers and the voice above him turned impatient.  “He’s not looking up, make him look up.”

Another sharp kick had Will crying out, curling tighter into himself to protect his vitals.  “Mr. Verger is trying to talk to you.”  The man, the one who’d beaten him to the ground, had a voice like crushed gravel. Crouching over him, he grabbed Will by his curls, fingers twisting tight in the satin strands as he forced his head back with tearing pain, making Will look up at his attackers.

The man who greeted him looked nothing short of deranged.  He smiled down at Will with dark cheer and bright steel colored eyes, his hair a teased haphazard mess of blond.  “Hi there,” he greeted again, content to finally have Will’s eyes turned to face him, to have him staring up from the ground with the degrading belittlement of a lesser man.  Will knew immediately that this man liked this, liked to see people in pain and dehumanized before him.  “I couldn’t help but notice you climbing into a certain viper earlier.  I’d like to talk to you about that.”

Will’s mouth suddenly felt dry, eyes wide with terror as a whole new evil presented itself.  Nigel had attracted the wrong attention and now Will was associated with Nigel.  “I’m not with Nigel.”  Will tried to defend himself, argue with the madman.  He should have known better.

“You’re not with him?”  The man, Verger, crouched down beside him, brought their faces close enough that Will could smell the wine on his breath, close enough to Will that he could have spat in his face if he’d had the saliva to do so.  “I watched you get into his car, I saw you go into his house.”  He leaned forward, lips pursed as a leather-clad finger touched the darkening bruise on the side of Will’s neck, traced his finger along its shadowing edges.  “You’re lying to me.  I don’t like being lied to Mr. Graham.  My sister Margo tries to lie to me.”  The collision of his fist to Will’s jaw had the world spinning, a fresh sharp pain erupting through his flesh, hair twisting to tear from his scalp in the man’s grasp. “My Papa didn’t tolerate lying and neither will I.”

Will worked his jaw, small ginger movements as he checked for broken bone.  There was only the slightest relief at finding it whole – at least for now.  “I’m not-”

Another hit, more force behind the fist that struck him than the first, and Will’s nose was bleeding, a heavy gush of blood running down his face, eyes watering with the new fire beneath his skin.

“LIAR!”  He screamed, barely a breath away from Will’s face before he stood, wiping the blood from his knuckles in thick red smears into the shoulder of his hired help’s sweatshirt.  “You’re a liar,” he reiterated with a feral calm, steely eyes bright with deranged mirth as he smiled down at Will.  “Do you know how I know that you’re lying to me Mr. Graham?”

Will had thought Nigel was crazy, obsessive, and dangerous, but this man was making him look very, very sane.

At least he wasn’t actually looking for Will to answer, more than happy to tell Will the answer himself. Will’s mouth was filling with blood and it was an effort to swallow with the harsh angle his head was craned into. “I had four men point you out in a crowd,” the man told him and Will felt his stomach drop.  “Four men who’d seen you leave Galatoires with Nigel Lascăr.”

The four men Nigel had dropped in a brazen show of strength and testosterone.  “You’re Lascăr’s newest whore, one who he likes enough to bring home, waste his time chasing around the city.”  The sky lit with another crack of lightening, the clouds illuminating with a sheet of bolts that turned the man into a demon beneath the glow.  “You see, I’ve got a problem with Lascăr.  He keeps selling in my territory,” he explained, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets.  One of them shifted, curved as if to wrap around an object and Will’s throat tightened with terror.  “My.  Territory.  Can you believe that?  How rude is that?”  A rhetorical question, he didn’t wait for Will’s reply. “Very rude.  It’s very, very rude and I – I just don’t like it when people touch my things.”

He slipped his foot under Will’s cheek, forcing his chin back and up to face him on a painful angle. His eyes large with fear and face streaked with blood, Will could only image the mess he looked to the monster above him. “This city, all of it, all the drugs, all the buyers, everything.  It’s mine.”  He had the sort of smile that could haunt a man’s dreams and give the cheshire cat a run for his money.  “So I’m going to take something that’s his.” 

Fear. Will had thought he’d known fear, was an old hand at fear and its handling.  He hadn’t faced anything like this before, not even in his dreams.  “Going to take it and make it mine,” the man continued.  Will jerked, one sharp movement of fight that had the brute holding him driving his free hand into Will's gut, wrenching a pained cry from his lips and his breath from his lungs.

Verger smiled, enjoyed the pain and spray of blood and spit onto the sidewalk. He watched the well of tears that pooled along the curve of Will’s eyes and fell in heated streaks along his face.  Will could read it in him, his merciless glee, his maddening love for torture and cruelty.  This was the sort of psychopath he studied, the kind that liked to hurt animals and bugs until he was big enough to begin tormenting people instead.

He could see it in his eyes – he was looking at Will and seeing his next victim. 

It was a simple switchblade Verger slipped from his pocket, silver in color and sharp as a razors edge.  He flipped the blade out, let Will see the piece he would be using to take him apart with, let it catch the street lamps light and shine like fire in the glow of the lightning.  “Going to take that something and mail it back to him piece by piece until he pays back every lost sale, every dollar and dime with interest, and gets out of my city.”

Will swallowed around the thick mouthful of blood that was drowning him, wishing he was safely back with Nigel.

“Alright, time to go.  Put him in the trunk.”

There was a time to fight, and a time to submit and panic.  This was the time for submission and panic.  Fighting back when one man had an open knife and the other held him prone was not a good idea.  Not that Will was given much time to consider the option of fight or flight.  His head made quick contact with the sidewalk and he was pulled from the ground, walked dazed and concussed to the back of a car, and violently shoved into the trunk. He could only fight the urge to vomit and try to steady his spinning world.

The soft splatter of rain on his face and the neutral look of a man doing his job were Will’s last sensations of the outside world before the trunk closed and he was plunged into darkness.

A loud knock immediately rattled him, the banging of a fist to the metal encasing him, “I apologize for the smell.  He’s a few hours old and they tend to excrete after a while.”  A laugh, sharp and barking penetrated the thick metal like the knife he would use to carve Will’s skin.  “What am I saying?  You’re in forensics.  You already know that.”

More laughter, the sound of footsteps, doors closing and the roll of an engine.  The car lurched and Will felt the press of something cold and stiff against his side, the soft malleability of flesh gone cold.

He wasn’t alone in the trunk, and he didn’t want to meet his company.  It was a face he didn’t need to see to have it haunt his dreams, he’d have more than enough with the memory of dead flesh against his own.

Deep breaths were difficult.  The car smelt of urine and shit and he needed to breathe, needed to ease his nerves, if only a little so maybe he could think.

Deep swallows of air tainted with blood and defecation filled his lungs, each breath reminding him how much he hurt, how much his face hurt, and made him want to hurl.  His head was throbbing, every bump of the car encouraging another wave of pain to pass through him, and he just couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

Another lurch and they stopped, too soon to be arriving at their destination. No slowing turns to signal parkin… this was for a sign or light, casual driving to deter any need to pull over, any suspicion.  Will needed suspicion.  He also needed to throw up.

The next jerk of the car shifting into drive made him vomit, stomach acid and whiskey burning his mouth and throat as he emptied his stomach over the plastic lining of a tarp.

A tarp.

Easy clean up and removal.  God what was he doing?  How had this happened?

Steadying himself on his elbows he thought back to some of the more basic tactics for escape from a car trunk and drove his foot to kick out the tail lights.  He cursed, clenching his teeth in a reflex that had more pain radiating through his skull. His foot had collided with steel.  Steel, fucking steel!  The man had created a barrier between his victims and his tail lights. Will supposed he should have expected as much, this obviously wasn’t Verger’s first kidnapping.

Another breath, rancid and sour. His head felt like it was ready to split but he tried again to force his nerves to calm.  This wasn’t like the chase with Nigel, this wouldn’t end with him locked in a room or forced to endure a dinner out and a possible fuck.  This was going to end with his very slow and painful dismemberment, an act he didn’t want to be a part of.  He needed to get away.

He touched his nose, not broken at least, and spat out the blood that slicked down his throat. He shifted, rotating until he pressed his back into the dead man behind him, curling partly in on himself and worked the can and lighter from his pockets.

He would only have one chance at this.

The drive was long, made longer still by the dread that ate him with each passing minute, the anticipation, the wait, the fear of failure.

God he wished he’d stayed at Nigel’s.  The man was dangerous and obsessed in a way that made him very safe for Will right now and very deadly for these crazy fuckers hoping to skin him.

He had no idea where he was, it would make escape that much more difficult, but it was a problem he would have to deal with only once he’d gotten out.  Will had been lost to begin with, with no sense of where he’d been when the pair had jumped him. He had even less now what with the twists and turns and long stretches of what must have been the highway.  He wouldn’t be able to call for help, not without a phone or some fucking idea of where he was being taken.

The car stopped, the sound of a garage door rolling open and then they were moving again, a slow drive, short, inside to park and the door was closing, others opening – car doors – and footsteps on the ground.  “Did you enjoy your ride Mr. Graham?"

The same bright voice, the same sharp enthusiasm laced with cruelty greeted him as the trunk popped, lid lifting open to blind Will with bright overhead lights.

He aimed the mace, flicked the lighter, and lit up Mason Verger like a torch.

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are roasting marshmallows over Mason's face, your comments are throwing rocks at Nigel and demanding he go safe Will. 
> 
> The author is tanning in the sun and debating Will's future fate.


	14. Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will bares his teeth, unwilling to lay down and die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to write this chapter because of what this chapter contains. It's not nice. It is a very action packed chapter. 
> 
> Violence, blood and some descriptions of gore because shit has hit the fan and exploded. If you can't read the bloody stuff skip this chapter and wait for the next, I'll post a little summery in the notes at the beginning so you don't have to read this if you've got a weak stomach (no shame in that my darlings, I'm the same)~<3
> 
> Next point of business - TRUST ME. Please, I know a number of readers don't read the authors notes and therefor won't see this until I reply to their comment personally but please, if you read the author notes of an update, _trust me_. If you're unsure of something and need to know what's ahead contact me privately or read the tags. If it's not tagged then it's not in this fic. 
> 
> This update is short because it was hard as balls to write until I gave up and let Will do what he wanted. He basically told me I could go fuck myself he didn't want to follow my idea for the story. Little shit took over the plot and ran away with it...
> 
> If you're a write you know exactly what I'm talking about. Writers don't always control a story, characters take on a life of their own while you're writing them and after a while you're just along for the ride. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy~<3
> 
> I own nothing. 
> 
> Beta read by diedofennui <3 <3 <3

No matter how real fire seems on the big screen, there is always safety in the padded theater seats, an escape as easy as closing your eyes and covering your ears to drown out the chaos.  
   
Will wasn’t escaping this.  He could feel the heat that poured from the fire, flames licking from the blaze of the aerosol can.  He couldn’t close his eyes against this – turn away from the licking flames that ate Verger’s face, the popping heat that sizzled the fat beneath flesh, dripping grease.  
   
He couldn’t cover his ears to escape the screams, not while holding the lighter, not when pushing off from the corpse behind him with a twist to follow Verger in his stumble away from the fire. Will kept him alight, spreading the golden blaze to consume the rest of his body – torch the cotton of his jacket and pants – reduce the man to a smoldering pile of ash.   
   
God the smell, it was cloying – clogging his nose and throat as the flames poured on – the sickening scent of roasting meat, unseasoned and left to burn. Flesh sizzled and fat melted – blending with the stench of burning hair.   
   
Will would have retched if he’d had anything left to choke on.  
   
The scream that tore from Verger was an unholy shriek.  Body twisting and jerking with spasms of pain Will couldn’t begin to imagine – searching blindly for an escape, a way to smolder the flames of his blazing body.  His pain was Will’s opportunity for escape and he didn’t let his advantage go to waste.  Dropping the can and lighter to clatter to the ground, he threw himself from the trunk in the moment of earned opportunity, tripping over the bumper to fall as he vaulted – once again landing hard on his knees, hand catching his body with a protest of pain before his blood-slicked face could meet concrete a second time.   
   
Will was up again in an instant, standing on shaking legs to run, wasting no more than a second in search of his escape before bolting away from the car and the blazing man with a reserve of energy he didn’t know he possessed.  There was a door by the front of the garage – now closed – and he went for it, running the short distance between vehicle and his escape route to grab its handle, heart in his throat, desperate for escape.  He twisted the knob, pulled and felt his shoulder jerk.  
   
It was locked.   
   
“Shit-” A thick metal padlock hung heavy through the metal clasp bolted between door and frame.  He jerked at it uselessly, knowing before he’d grabbed it and pulled that the steel would not give way.  It remained shut against his insistence, in spite of his prayers and desperation, uncaring for his folly.   
   
A look over his shoulder revealed Verger’s smoldering form hidden beneath a thick blanket of foam from an extinguisher’s spray. His hired help dropped the canister to turn his attentions to Will, eyes focusing on the boy who had lit up his boss.  
   
The man’s hand moved for the gun holstered at his side and Will felt his heart leap into his throat as thick fingers curled around chrome.  He needed another way out.  
   
Will didn’t know what this warehouse had housed before, the building reduced to nothing more than an abandoned shell, but the concrete floors were stained the color of copper and rust with what Will was fairly certain hadn’t been there in the warehouse’s glory days – not with the blood pattern fanning out into an obvious arterial spray. But more importantly than the bloodstains were the series of catwalks above him, one of which ran past several old windows to the outside.  
   
He bolted for the stairs, metal grating and rusted railing leading him up to run the perimeter, past swinging hooks on heavy chains. The windows were blocked, sealed with heavy boards, and his eyes frantically scanned for one that wasn’t.  
   
His head seemed to pulse with each step, sharp throbs of pain arching through his skull as feet pounded against the grating and he ran, made his body fly.  A rain of bullets trailed on his heels, so close in their trajectory and the booming echoes of their firing that Will thought he could feel them passing over the skin of his back.  
   
 “Don’t kill him!”  The howl was harsh and pained and nearly incomprehensible.  Shaking hands wiped away thick sweeps of blanketing foam from smoldering flesh, the froth falling away pink and red to reveal a mess of burned tissue and oozing wounds. Yellow globs of fat clung to red and black muscle tissue through the haze of foamy residue.  “I want him!  I want him alive!”   
   
Alive – Will would have rather the man wanted him dead.  But dead he couldn’t take him apart, not with any satisfaction at least.  He needed Will alive so he could return the favor of pain, pay that debt back to Will tenfold for what he’d done.  
   
He tripped – foot catching on a twist of rusted metal to send him sprawling – and he was saved from a bullet by the grated floor.  The slug bounced off the metal in a near miss that had Will pushing back onto exhausted feet with another rush of adrenaline, racing toward his escape, an un-boarded window ahead.   
   
Contrary to the popular image seen in the movies and media, windows do not break easily enough for people to throw their bodies against and jump through – it takes more force to break a window than most films would leave you to believe. The glass needs to be broken first for a body to fly through cleanly, or at the very least needs to be weakened. A bullet, shoe or brick is necessary to make a crack or break through a pane. Otherwise, a flying leap toward a window would result in a resounding whump and more blundering pain.   
   
Will didn’t have anything to throw, or the time to stop and make use of the heel of his shoe,  
but he could see a crack. The heavy splintering of an old impact across the surface of the glass that just might be enough to let him break through.   
  
The splintering surface might have been the result of a careless bird, a teen throwing rocks or a storm – whatever its cause, its creation wasn’t nearly as important as its purpose now.  
   
Not that breaking through would mean escape, there was still a two-story fall waiting for him on the other side, one he could walk away from if done right, if he wasn’t too tired to catch himself with a spring and a roll forward.  The two-story drop could kill him, certainly injure, but staying in the building would end in something far worse.  It was worth the risk of broken legs, or even a quick end.  Verger would bring Will to his end inch by grueling inch until he had Will pleading for death.  It would be a lot messier than the ground meat cuts from broken glass he was about to endure.   
   
He ran for the catwalk’s end, the guard rail a three foot jump from the window – he planted a foot on the middle bar, the other on the top, and vaulted.   It felt like something from a movie, an unbelievable feat that was actually happening to him.  
   
Just like the rest of this week.  
   
Will hit the glass. He felt the splintering pane give under his weight, and then the tear of a bullet piercing his hip.  
   
The world slowed, or seemed to, an extra second gifted to him as glass shattered where he’d driven his elbow against the spiderweb of cracks. And in that time he felt the burn of steal-encased lead push through the meat of his hip to hit bone.  
   
Glass flew in an explosion of shrapnel around him as he fell, heart pounding hard enough he could hear the pump of blood in his ears, it was deafening the scream that tore from his throat, drowning the sound of his pain in an ocean of pumping blood.  
   
He didn’t bend his knees for the roll that might have saved him a broken bone.  Will landed hard in the cushion of shrubbery beneath the building and ground his teeth against the pain that poured through him, a sob shaking him to his core as he forced his eyes open, vision filled with the downpour of icy drops.  
   
He searched for broken bones. Nothing was bent wrong – not that he could see much in the depths of night in a torrential downpour – something he’d be thankful for if it wasn’t for the consuming pain of the blade of glass protruding from his thigh.  Another sharp whine pushed past his lips and he reached for the shard, feeling it shift in the meat of his thigh as he grabbed it.  With teeth clenched he pulled it from his flesh like the slip of a blade, hot tears streaking his cheeks to blend with the icy rain.  “Fuck…”  
   
It curved in an angry twist of something sharp and dangerous, a sickle painted in his blood.  He pulled off his shirt, working fast as he listened for slamming doors and footsteps on overgrowth.  Grasping the glass he tore the cloth in two uneven halves, the first he wrapped tight around his leg, tied tight.  He needed to slow the bleeding, keep himself alive.  The other he wrapped around the shard’s base. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.  
   
The rain washed over him like a shower, darkening the world and washing away his trail, the blood he shed over leaves and muddy grass disappearing into the earth.  
   
Thunder clapped overhead, a pulse in the sky brightening his world of living horror, filling the surrounding woods with shadow and light, breathing life into his nightmares. And there, within the light, hidden amongst the trees, stood a stag, the embodiment of his terrors and fear.  
   
Its eyes seem to glow in that second of light, shining honey gold in the flash and it was mesmerizing.  The sound of footsteps brought him back to the here and now, forcing away the illusions of his mind.  He needed to run but he couldn’t, not with the pulsing pain that raked through him, not with the gouge in his leg and bullet in his hip.  
   
 “Not here,” he told himself, throat tight, eyes burning, “not like this.”  He crawled from the shrubbery – swallowing down another sob against the pain that bloomed from darkening bruises and torn flesh –dragged his body through the broken glass and wet earth, crawling with searing pain across the ground toward the thicket of trees.  His head was spinning, stomach rolling as he forced himself to breath and pushed on.  He finally heard it, the sound of footsteps over grass, sloppy and wet, searching for him.  A gun fired and he swallowed down his fear, kept moving, kept crawling.   
   
“Let them look,” he panted, breath ragged, “let him find me.” He smiled, skin pulling against the pain of swollen flesh. “Let them pull me to my feet,” he whispered in his madness, poison falling from his lips. He gripped the shiv tighter – teeth clenched as he pulled his aching body another half foot. “I’ll open them up like fucking fish and crawl to safety through their fluids.”  
   
More footsteps, running, searching – they were hunting for him like a dog.   
   
“Will!”  
   
Hands were upon him, grabbing him by his shoulder to twist him around, roll him - and he rolled.  Will sank the makeshift blade deep into the soft tissue of his captor’s side and pulled, rib to hip.  
   
Let him bleed.   
   
The hands fell away, grabbing for torn flesh as icy rain and hot blood fell in tandem against Will’s face and he was moving again.  There was no time to stop – to confirm the man dead – he moved faster through the mud, pain numbed by icy pumps of adrenaline as he clambered through the undergrowth, swallowed back hot tears.  
   
His fingers slipped, clumping grass gathering between his fingers, dirt beneath his nails, his body slicked with mud and blood.  He didn’t think he’d make it, not out of the forest, not away from the blood and death and murder he…he would never escape the murder.  His fingers scrapped over gravel, mud and sand rolling beneath his nails.  He’d reached the roadside, a highway’s edge made silent by the pouring rain and rising winds, a single car parked along the curb.   
   
Hope – foolish and wishful – bubbled for Bev’s cherry Hyundai and was crushed by the reveal of a dark Volvo.  Gravel bit into him as he pulled from curb to road and grabbed the car door handle.  The driver’s side was unlocked.   
   
It was too much to wish for keys, but he could hide, stash himself away in the back seat and wait for the diver to return…and then-  
   
Vanilla smoke kissed his senses and Will held his breath, halfway into the car. He knew the smell of warm tobacco, the lingering ghost of cologne.   
   
“Nigel…”   
   
He’d come for him.  
   
 _“Will!”_  
   
The hand that had grabbed him, the pull that hadn’t been a violent twist, but a tug to turn him around…  
   
He’d stabbed Nigel.  
   
OoOoO  
   
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are sobbing over Nigel, your comments are holding a gun to Will's head and telling him he'd better go back for him. 
> 
> The author is unsure how this update will be taken as it was nothing intended for the story in the least...


	15. Last Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will goes back for Nigel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot describe to my lovely readers how much of a pain in the ass writing action sequences is. Just know that I hate them. A lot.
> 
> With that I hope you'll all enjoy this coming chapter, a few grotesque parts but nothing as bad as the last chapter. C:
> 
> CHAPTER 14 SUMMERY
> 
> For anyone who skipped last chapter for the descriptions of violence here are the key points to note:  
> -Will used mace and Nigel's lighter to burn Mason until he was a ball of fire.  
> -Mason told his man to get Will and bring him back alive.  
> -Will ran up a catwalk and jumped out a second storey window landing in some bushes.  
> -Will is pretty badly injured from being shot in the hip, jumping out a window and all the broken glass that comes from those jumps.   
> -Will escapes into the surrounding woods in an army crawl because he can't walk.  
> -Will stabs Nigel thinking his Verger's hired help and finds Nigel's car on the roadside where he realizes that he instead attacked Nigel. 
> 
> That should catch you up I think. C;
> 
> Thank you to all my lovely and loyal readers and welcome to all the new ones! I hope you're enjoying the story~<3
> 
> Beta read by the amazing diedofennui! She's writing a fabulous story called "What Makes Him Tick", you should check it out if you get the chance. C:

Will reached over the seats, stretched to feel every muscle scream against the movement and popped the glove compartment.  He was hopeful, unsure if he could expect the same surprise a second time, and was relieved by the presence of a 9mm found inside - just as it had been in the Viper.  With heaving breaths he checked the magazine, full.  Either Nigel hadn’t killed anyone recently, or he’d just refilled after an exciting night out.  Regardless, it left Will with fifteen rounds.  He hoped he wouldn’t have to actually use them.

This, what he was about to do, it wasn’t right.  It wasn’t how things should be.  He was supposed to be running from Nigel, putting distance between himself and his stalker – fearing and hating him – instead he was checking for ammo, fearing for the man and hating himself for it. 

Nigel had come for him.  Wherever Verger had been parked waiting for Will, waiting to follow him home, Nigel must have seen the car tailing him. Maybe he’d even recognized it, knew the car to be Verger’s and jumped into one of his own as soon as he’d noticed it.

Will realized that there was a good chance he was suffering from captor bonding or Stockholm Syndrome – it made no sense for him to want to save his stalker, the man was slowly ruining his life. Now all Will could think about was how he had to go back for the asshole instead of leaving him for dead and wishing him all the best as worm food.

He told himself that this insanity was a logical step based on the “better the devil you know” principle. He didn’t want to consider that his actions could spur from something he didn’t want to think about – something _more._ He chewed his lips and cursed himself. It would be typical wouldn’t it?  Another piece of his broken mind that shouldn’t exist – twisted and wrong, another piece that would never make sense to Will. That piece that made him want to feel the touch of someone who cared about him, someone who wanted him despite his many quirks. Someone willing to fight for him with fevered desire without asking him to change, without demanding social commitment that Will couldn’t give. It was that touch and desire that he wanted to experience despite the possession and sick torment that came with it.

“Fuck-” He growled against the pain that moved through him, it was beyond anything he’d endured before, hurt so bad all he could think of, all he wanted to do, was curl in on himself and die.  Instead he pushed on, let his body drop from the car to the concrete with a broken pant of agony ebbing on a sob. He twisted to drag his bloodied form back toward the roadside, over a gravel curb and into the trees and shrubbery, back toward the body he’d dropped with the swipe of his shiv.

He held the gun like a lifeline, cold steel heating against his palm with a near-comforting weight.  It felt like protection, like a life preserver being dragged behind a large ship.  If he lost it he’d die in the water.  His finger flexed against the trigger, felt the gentle shift of metal and moved on.

Rocks bit into his stomach and sticks scraped against his skin as he dragged himself through the mess of muddied earth, not even the leaves offered comfort for his bare flesh as the sharp dried edges pressed into him.  The ground slicked him, wet and cold and dirty, muddy water soaking through his jeans and coating his raw skin.  He must have looked like an animal, feral and dangerous, gritting his teeth against the pain as he forced his aching limbs to move. He was running on the fumes of adrenalin and the little food that lingered in his system.  Will would count himself blessed if he made it through the night. 

He was battered, losing blood faster than he’d like and could only count himself marginally lucky not to have broken anything during his fall.  It would be a fucking miracle if nothing was cracked. 

Labored breaths fogged the air, another crack of lightening rolling through the sky to light the darkness with a flash.  It wasn’t enough to see, illumination brightening the woods to play with the shadows and fuck with his imagination, letting him see the demons of his mind crouching in the darkness, smiling at him with needle teeth and hollow eyes.

Gripping the gun tighter he searched the shadows for a body that should have been there and not the scavengers waiting for him to die.  He had opened Nigel from rib to hip; he should have been lying in the mud bleeding, dying.  Will swallowed back another sob of pain and moved.  It was getting harder to force his limbs to go, each break for breath that much harder to come back from. 

“He’s not here…”  Will panicked, scanning again for a body in the dark.  He couldn’t see one, but he was disoriented, the edges of his world blurred and head spinning.  He definitely had a concussion and was teetering on the edge of shock.  Nigel could be deeper in the woods, he reasoned, farther to the side maybe – another flash brought his desperate thoughts to a halt, the blade of glass catching the light to shine like a beacon. He touched the shard, hooked and deadly, he knew the black he could see painting it was mud, the life that would have coated its razor edge washed away by heavy rain.  But he could image it, dark red clinging to the shiv.  His gut tightened when his sight settled on something else, something a little more deadly than the glasses edge, and something Nigel never would have let go of unless he was forced – his gun. 

Throat tight, he grabbed the extra firearm, breath shuttering as he twisted to shove the spare down the back of his jeans and carried on.  He wished he’d thought to pull his jacket back on before throwing himself from the bushes.  It had been abandoned when he’d shrugged it off to get at his shirt and bind his leg.

In hindsight, slicked with mud and half frozen in the dirt, it would have been nice to have at least a little protection from the scrap of debris against his belly.

The gun, the glass, the lack of a body – he needed to move faster.  If Nigel wasn’t lying where Will had left him and had decided to drop his gun, that could only mean one thing. He needed to find Nigel before Mason took him apart the way he’d intended to do to Will. 

Bracing himself on forearms and elbows, he shifted up onto a knee, grinding his teeth against the sharp burn pulsing through him – the scrap of bullet against bone.  It hurt, but he could move, push past the pain and crawl forward on hands and knee, one leg dragging uselessly behind him.  On his knee he was that much faster, would reach Nigel that much sooner.

Swallowing back another agonizing sob as he forced muscles to move, Will made haste around the warehouse, to the only door he’d seen.  If Mason’s man had come after him, and instead found Nigel to drag back, it would have been after breaking the lock on the door. Will would be able to go through it now.

He crawled around to the building’s front and found the door still closed, no doubt still fastened tight and holding strong on the inside by a lock, but the garage door was open.  Light bled out from the warehouse onto the soaking ground outside, illuminating mud and puddles with a gloss of light. 

Panting, Will leaned against the warehouse side, settling onto his stomach as he peered around the corner in search of his captors.  Mason was sitting, his henchman’s coat folded beneath him where he leaned back against the car, watching with broken laughter as Nigel took one blow after another to his torn stomach, thick copper sprays soaking the ground beneath him, oozing larger with every drive of foot to gut. Verger found this funny, just as he’d found Will’s suffering funny.

As Will watched the scene unfold, he felt pain and regret and _desire_ for the monster he’d left behind. 

For Nigel

These feelings were his fault.

Another harsh kick, the same violent swing that had made Will double over, drove foreign curses from Nigel and made him curl, strong arms wrapped around his middle as teeth ground and his face contorted with pain. 

“Puddem in da trwnk.”  Verger slurred, seemingly satisfied with the violence doled out.  Grabbing Nigel by the hair, the thug jerked him from his protective ball to pull him to his feet, driving the nose of his glock hard into his temple as he forced him up.

It almost felt dirty to see Nigel like this, the powerful man reduced to a beaten victim.  He followed the direction of the gun, stumbling to his feet to look into the open trunk Will had only just escaped from.  “I climb in here,” Nigel growled, voice heady even when laced with pain, “like fuck you’ll have me climbing back out.”   He cast a look to the charred man seated to his side, leaning against the tires hub and was met with no denial.

Verger looked as though he was smiling, peeling face pulled back in a wide toothy grin.  But it was hard to tell if the broad toothy smile was the genuine article or just where his flesh had burned away, cracked and distorted.

Will took a breath, filling his lungs with as much cold air as he could manage without getting sick and aimed the gun.  He’d never held one before now, sure as shit never shot one and the world spinning all around him was making it hard to aim.  He couldn’t afford to miss, not when that could mean hitting Nigel, not now when he’d come back for him.

A second breath, long and deep, making his ribs scream with the expanse. He tried to steady his grip, both arms braced against the ground and aimed – he waited.  Verger’s man had already proven his good aim, coming so close to Will during his run.  It was no small feat to come that close, a moving target far more difficult to hit than something stationary – like a man lying prone on the ground – which meant that Will would only have one shot before the man turned on him and blew him away.

Nigel followed the gun’s kiss down into the trunk, hands pressed flat inside the cavity, knee lifting to carry his weight over and into his possible – probable – grave.  Will fired.

It was the farthest Nigel could be from Will’s target without being trapped inside the vehicle, giving Will the clearest shot he was going to get.  He held his breath and squeezed the trigger.  His shoulder jerked with the recoil, nearly enough to bring the gun back against his face.  He’d never shot before, knew it would be covered in basic training when he joined the force and hadn’t thought to waste tuition money on a shooting range.

The kickback was unexpected, greater than anticipated with the jerk that shook him.  He felt it through his arms and shoulders, the recoil nearly enough to take him in the face.  Startled he looked for the hit – all eyes but Nigel’s turned on him.

He’d missed the shot. 

Will’s eyes widened, he knew he didn’t have time to try again. Nigel took quick advantage of the distraction to twist free of the hold and shatter the man’s nose with a fist.  Blood exploded in a mess of crunching bone and he grabbed the man by his wrist, fought him for his gun. 

Verger was screaming, words indecipherable, clawing back to his feet with a knife in his hand, the same knife Will had seen him waving around before.  He turned the silver on Nigel as he tried to fight for control of the gun – Verger was so close, so much faster on his feet than Will would have given him credit for considering the burns.

He wanted to aim and fire, to do something more than shiver against the cold air, but he found as he tried to squeeze the trigger that he couldn’t.  His head lolling to the side, Will concentrated once more on his finger squeezing the trigger, bullet firing from the barrel.  Instead he started to shiver, a deep shaking taking him over. 

He’d lost too much blood, endured too much pain – he was going into shock.  

It made everything feel surreal, the world moving around him, the rain covering him like an icy blanket, the mud cushioning him in an earthen bed, he could feel the sharp point of rocks digging into his ribs and the warm ooze of blood heating his skin where it pushed free from wounds he’d thought to be so much shallower than they were.

He was going to watch Nigel die, and then he was going to follow.

OoOoO

The sound of gunfire that didn’t immediately drive Nigel’s world into an ocean of darkness had him moving with a knee jerk reaction. He let the hair tear from his scalp and the opening in his side scream as he twisted around and drove his fist into bone, make the man’s eyes water – blinding him with tears and pain.  He grabbed the hand holding steel and jerked to bend it back, to shove the muzzle against the man’s head and fill his grey matter with a god damn bullet.

Verger’s unholy shriek came at his back, the sound of pained shuffling a warning that the fucker was refusing to stay down, rising behind Nigel to claim vengeance and glory from his flesh. 

In Nigel’s world, the underworld – where survival is all that counts – there’s no such thing as fighting dirty.  Nigel drove his knee hard enough to have the man spitting bile and pulled the gun free, turning it on Mason. He drove the muzzle hard into his melted gut and fired, caught the incoming blade in his free hand and felt its silver edge sink into meaty flesh, his palm on fire.

The blade slide free with Verger’s fall backward, making Nigel hiss a sharp curse with the searing pain of steal through muscle and bark another when he felt a hand circle his ankle from the man at his back. 

He brought him to the ground, dragging Nigel to his knees to haul beneath him, crawl on top and grabbed for his head to crane it back.  His grip tightened, ready to snap his neck and Nigel was firing over his shoulder, blind and desperate. 

He’d fight to the last fucking breath and take both these assholes with him on his merry way to hell if this would be his end.

The body fell limp on top of him, a dead weight he shoved off.  Hand gripping the opening in his side – a deep slash through muscle and skin just shallow enough not to have him holding in his guts – Nigel looked for his last attacker.  It wasn’t Darko who’d fired the shot, because he wouldn’t have missed, and Nigel wouldn’t have had the chance to blow both men away.  A groan from the dying man at his feet had rich honey eyes dropping to meet a pile of charred flesh and agony.  Verger wasn’t dead, yet.  A stomach wound would have the man dying soon enough, stomach acid eating away his guts to leave him dying in agony.  He returned the favor of a swift kick to the gut, felt his pulse jump with the scream that stuttered from black cracking lips and stopped over the weeping flesh to search out his aid or adversary, gun at the ready as he walked slow steps toward the garage door and source of the fire.

His heart skipped a beat when he found his aide, his beautiful William lying shaking and bleeding at his feet. It turned all his blind rage into need, the need to save his darling. “You beautiful fucking idiot,” he whispered, stooping down to take his face in hand and look for signs of conscious life within his eyes.  “Why the fuck didn’t you run?” 

Headlights appeared in the falling downpour, and Nigel was scooping Will into his arms, hushing his agonizing sobs with soft foreign words and lifting his gun to follow the approaching car, holding Will’s dying form against him. He stepped out of the vehicle’s line of sight, hiding them just behind the protection of the concrete walls.

The car didn’t stop.  It drove through the open garage door into the vast warehouse, Nigel’s aim never faltering as his eyes followed the car as it parked. He clutched Will tight against him as he held aim, ready to fire and blow these bastards away with the first clear opening.

Tension left him like a breath when he recognized the assholes inside, windows rolled down to reveal four men, each armed and gun aimed at the ready, all of them Nigel’s. He and Will were safe.  Darko was the first out of the car, casting a quick look to the carnage before rounding the vehicle to Nigel.  “Took you fucking long enough,” Nigel greeted in passing, taking no time to offer explanation to his partner as he threw Matt – who was taking too long for Nigel’s liking getting his sweet ass out – out of the car to lay his William in the back.   He needed to hurry.

Darko watched, knowing at once who the boy was Nigel was strapping in – he was the kid he hadn’t shut up about since meeting him in a game of poker.

“You give shit directions Nigel.  Trying to follow you when you’re five minutes ahead over the phone is a pain in the ass.”  He knew better than to fight the man for his car, Nigel was taking it and there was no two ways about it.  He’d seen Nigel’s parked on the roadside – the only reason he’d known where the fuck to turn – he’d have Matt wire it so they could go the fuck home.

“You found me,” Nigel countered, “can’t be too fucking bad.”  A few minutes later and Darko’s late ass would have been passing Nigel on the street, his fine ass locked in a trunk instead of meeting up with him on his feet in the warehouse.  

He was alive, and that was all thanks to Will. 

Nigel grabbed the cellphone from the closest crony and motioned for Randall to take the wheel. He wanted to hurry, needed to get his darling to a surgeon and have himself stitched up before either of them lost much more blood.  But that didn’t mean he could drive, not with the deep fucking wound Will had gifted him and the few solid kicks that had aided its further tearing.  He needed to keep pressure on his side now that he had the free hand to do so. 

Punching seven digits into the stolen device he looked over his shoulder at the unconscious boy he’d fallen in love with, felt the car pull into drive as he listened to the phone ring.

“Hello,” a deep accented voice greeted. Nigel’s private doctor, he was an ex-emergency surgeon, the best in the state with a flexible set of morals that suited Nigel’s lifestyle perfectly. A well padded envelope twice a month kept the doctor quiet and available for his personal needs.

"Doctor Lecter, I’m scheduling emergency surgery.”

OoOoO  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are taking turns kicking Verger, your comments are cuddling sad puppy Will in the back of the car.
> 
> Who's open to Hannibal making a prominent appearance? I hadn't planned it but he made the best character option for a surgeon so now he's here. Who'd like to see more of him? Who wants to keep this to Will and Nigel? Who wants a small creepy spurt from the cannibal before moving on to sexy Nigel/Will times?
> 
> Lemme know darlings~<3


	16. I Need Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Will get some medical attention followed by fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather is getting nice here and I have a habit of slowing down my updates and writing in favor of seeing sunshine and the outdoor world during the summer. So don't be surprised if I disappear for weeks at a time. I tend to write in the evenings or when it's raining during this time of year and that means fewer updates until the fall. Sorry. 
> 
> It's almost over!! OMG!!! When I was writing up this chapter I realized with the development and change in events that this would most likely be the stories second last chapter with the final one tying up some lose ends and of course the smut. Hopefully you've all enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading, kudoing and leaving me beautiful comments all through this fic. It's been a wild ride~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Beta'd by the word wielding DiedofEunni~<3
> 
> ALSO!!! I got a bunch of fanart for this story!!!! EEEE!!! So excited by that, I was dancing around like a lunatic! Check them out~<3 http://azm0n.tumblr.com/post/119884484722/these-are-moments-from-sku7314977-s-fanfiction-the

He was itching for a smoke.

One arm held over his head, hand fisting into a ball tight enough to have his nails digging into the wade of cloth against his palm, his teeth clenching while his other flexed against the couches edge.  “It’s been nearly four hours,” Nigel said, dark honey eyes locked on the door separating him from his beloved.  “How long does he fucking need?” 

Delicate hands – gentle but firm – pressed the hooked needle through flesh to stitch another suture.  “Hannibal is a very capable surgeon,” the blonde at his side replied.  She considered the number of stitches made and number yet to sew.  “He will be finished only when the patient is stable or dead.”  Knotting the stitch she cut the fine thread with small sharp scissors and glanced to Nigel’s face.  He didn’t meet her gaze, far more occupied watching the door and waiting for some sign that Will was okay on its other side.

“Which do you think will come first?”  Nigel asked because he had to know.  He wasn’t allowed to be in there and hold Will’s fucking hand, Hannibal had made damn sure of that, telling him to wait for his wife – Dr. Du Maurier – to stitch him up before closing the door, vanishing with Will into the room.

He hadn’t heard a fucking word from either since.

Bedelia Du Maurier, Nigel’s current doctor as his usual was busy with more important patients, looked from the thug under her fingertips to the door her husband was locked behind, a subtle purse of lips in quiet thought before returning to her work – beginning another stitch down the man’s torn side.  “I haven’t seen the boy, but from what you’ve described to me of your endeavors this evening and his physical state – I would say he’s lucky to have made it here alive.  You may have been better suited for a hospital.”  A hospital rather than their lavish home.

Those words of comfort did shit to ease Nigel’s growing ire.  It made him wish he’d told Darko to keep fucking Verger alive so he could fill him full of lead a second time.  “Careful your husband doesn’t hear you say that.”  It could have been a dark humored joke or a warning.  His doctor was a particular man with particular quirks and Nigel wasn’t sure how far the protection of a relationship stretched.  He knew the man didn’t like people doubting his abilities.  “Taking him to a hospital would have run the risk of someone making a follow up visit to finish him off,” he said more honestly.

His shoulder groaned from keeping his arm elevated for the past twenty minutes, reminding him of his own discomfort.  He shifted the limb to rest his forearm on his head and relieve a little of the numbing pain.  It offered about thirty seconds of relief before the same irritable discomfort resumed and he distracted himself from one pain with another, focusing on the sharp pinch of the needle sliding through skin over the deep ache.

“You could have laid on your side for this,” Du Maurier commented, not oblivious to her patient’s discomfort.

“No thanks.”  Nigel refused the more agreeable position a second time.  He’d already been at the mercy of one killer tonight, the idea of making himself vulnerable to another, especially this exceptionally eccentric couple, was not a preferable option.

Nigel had only ever heard rumors regarding Lecter and his wife, but after one dinner party in the good doctor’s company in which no one was fucking fooling him and that sure as hell wasn’t any god damn cow he’d had before, Nigel didn’t like the idea of these people having him in any unfavorable positions.

It was the same reason he’d refused any anesthetic.

Pain could be a distraction, but it could also keep the mind sharp.  He was more aware without the blissful veil of numbing drugs and a keener mind made for quicker reflexes.  Pain and adrenaline were good things tonight, he’d worry about making himself more comfortable once he was home with Will tucked away safe and sound in one of his safe houses.  Like fuck he’d be taking him back to his usual place, not if Verger’s cronies knew where to go looking.  It wasn’t safe anymore.

He’d throw the place up for sale later in the week, a discounted price for some bullshit reason and make a quick sale on the waterfront lot.  Then he could disappear with Will.  Keep a proper eye on him and control the ins and outs of his shipping company through runners and Darko.  He didn’t like using the web for work, didn’t like the cyber trail it left behind or the opportunity it offered for leaks. 

Finishing with his side, the doctor cleaned away the excess blood from tender skin and dressed the wound. “Your hand please.”  More a polite demand than a request, Nigel eased his arm down from over his head with a grimace for his groaning shoulder and let the doctor remove the thick wade of cloth from his grip to examine the damage before beginning cleaning for the next set of stitches.

Nigel watched her for all of thirty seconds, the cleaning and application of disinfectant to the wound that made it burn like a bitch before turning his stare back to the room he was barred from.  “You won’t have any permanent tendon damage,”  Du Maurier informed him. “Most of the injury is in your pollicis brevis muscles.  They’ll take some time to heal and to regain full movement, but nothing long-lasting.”

He spared a half glance to his hand and the fine stitches mending the ugly wound across it.  It would be just another scar to add to the collage of silvery lines marring his body.  No big deal.  He’d had worse.

“I need a smoke.”  He was tempted to take his hand from the doctor just so he could step outside and accommodate the craving, the wound would still be there open and bleeding when he got back.

Then again, that would also mean leaving Will.

She didn’t let go of his hand.  “Smoking is bad for your stitches.”  It was a fact to be noted but no argument against his life choices.  If he wanted to smoke he was going to have a goddamn smoke and no warning from any doctor was going to detour him from that.  It would keep him from smoking in the room with Will though.  He’d sit by a window or take it outside when he needed the nicotine, he wouldn’t risk the possibility of slower healing with his darling.  “Infection, slower healing, harsher scarring.” She tied off another stitch.  “It would be in your best interest to stop.  At least until your side has healed.”

Again, that wasn’t going to happen and they both knew it so he didn’t respond and she didn’t push.

The door opened and he damn near knocked Du Maurier to the ground, abandoning the surgeon’s wife to meet Dr. Lecter at the door as he quietly closed it behind him.  “How is he?”  Nigel demanded because he needed to know, the man had kept him waiting for four fucking hours without a word.

Lecter arched a pale brow at the swinging needle still attached to surgical thread and Nigel’s hand.  “He’ll survive,” the doctor informed him, slipping on a fresh glove to take the needle in hand and finish what his wife had started.

“Can I see him?” he pressed, already eager to enter the room.  He didn’t care that he had a cannibal doctor playing with his hand and a needle, he could follow him into the room or leave the damn thing open.  Nigel was sure with enough rubbing alcohol and ointment the fucking thing would heal up on its own.

“He’s resting now,” Hannibal stated firmly, once again denying Nigel admittance.  “You would be wise to do the same.”

Thread pulled a little too tight and Nigel leveled a warning look at the doctor who graced him with the same.  Nigel had always found the similarities between them uncanny, the man could have been his long lost twin they looked so close.  He’d been tempted more than once to look into it, see if maybe he could fill the dark holes in his memory before the time of his adopted family.  But with his love for violence and the blood on Lecter’s hands…he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember what had made them this way.

It still made his meetings with the man strange, like running into his doppelganger, one with a taste for violence that rivaled his own.  Hannibal was all ice to Nigel’s fire, and just as fucking dangerous. “Then call me unwise or put a chair by the bed and I’ll sleep in it.”

“You need to lie down,” Du Maurier said joining them. “The laceration in your side, though not as deep as it could have been, still requires bed-rest to heal.”

“Bedelia is right Nigel.  A bed will be needed for proper healing, for you as well as for William, preferably not together.”  Nigel snorted at that, as if he’d want to scare Will into crawling away from him half-dead and sedated.  Will had come back for him and whatever it was that had driven him to do it was something he wanted to nurture, encourage.

He didn’t want to see Will running from him anymore.  He wanted to see him fighting to get to him the way he had tonight, he wanted a partner who would fight with him, for him.

“Fine,” he agreed to their terms, at least for now.  They wouldn’t be able to do shit to stop him from suffering through sitting by Will’s side once he and his darling were back at his place.  “Separate beds, no sitting, no smoking.”  He looked to his doctor.  “Can I at least take him home?”

Lecter tied off the last stitch and dressed his hand to keep it clean.  “Not tonight.”  Honey eyes narrowed.  “I’d like to keep an eye on him myself.  Tomorrow, if he remains stable through the night, you can have him transported to your estate.”  An estate where Lecter would have easy access for regular visitation until both men were healed, not a great option when your doctor is a serial killing cannibal, but better than staying in his house.

“I’ll show you to a guest room for the evening,” Du Maurier volunteered, a gentle touch to Nigel’s arm calling his attention before she turned to lead him away from her husband and the fucking door he was blocking.

Reluctantly he followed, flexing his hand to feel the swollen flesh shift and stitches pull as he gingerly took the stairs.  He’d wanted to go home and dope himself up on some fucking morphine, kill the pain and get some fucking sleep with Will safely in his line of sight.  Now he’d be sleeping with one eye open, a gun in his hand, and a chair shoved against the fucking door.

Like hell he’d be attending the next dinner party as a fucking entrée.

OoOoO

Maroon eyes took in the sleeping form of the patient laid out before him.  He was young, looked younger than his actual age, with soft chocolate curls that swept in a frizzy halo.  Even with the plains of his creamy skin marred by violence he was beautiful.  There would be scars, small silver lines like graffiti scattered over his body once he healed.  He doubted Will would use a proper vitamin cream to aid the healing and decrease their prominence.  If the signs of obvious malnourishment were anything to go by, the boy either lacked the funds or the will to properly care for his most basic of needs, never mind his aesthetic ones.

“Beautiful boy.” He brushed a stray curl back from the sleeping man’s face and indulged in the desire to let that hand linger, cup his cheek and feel the warmth of breath against his skin.  This wasn’t how he’d pictured his first meeting with the boy, adorned with sutures and gauze, saved by his hand and motionless in the small medical ward of his home.  He had hoped to arrange a meeting after graduation through the aid of his psychology colleague, Dr. Alana Bloom.

An article, blog really, had leaked portions one of Will’s reports from class – a criminal profile – with the unflattering article title “Sees Like A Killer, Thinks Like a Killer, Could Be a Killer?”  An insulting critique of the inner workings of the young man’s mind and yet – one that skimmed the surface of truth.

Upon reading the article he’d made a polite inquiry to Dr. Bloom in regards to the student featured in the article and acquired a full copy of the misquoted paper.

Will was a man he needed to meet, to share a conversation with, and to see for himself what darkness lurked beneath the skin.  His insight of the Ripper – what he’d written of an older case – it was so close to the truth, so flattering with its description of art and beauty and punishment…

There was potential within his beautiful, complex mind.  A gift that would be squandered when he failed the psyche exam for the FBI and one that would be wasted on Nigel – the man had neither the capacity nor the faculties to guide Will, aide him in his path to true greatness – he was meant for so much more.

He checked the intravenous drip, a saline solution with antibiotic and morphine slipping into Will’s veins.  “You’ve come very close to death this evening.”  And remained closer still, sleeping in the presence of the Ripper he had read so well, seen where all others have only looked.  He would survive.  Hannibal would be sure of it.

“Foolish beautiful boy,” He ran the side of his finger along the scruff-roughened skin of his jaw, a day’s growth, maybe two.  His face still held the telltale marks of youth with rounded cheeks and smooth creaseless skin around his eyes.  “You’ve written about me, flattered me with your poetry of art and beauty to describe a killer.  You understand more than those who teach you.  You have already surpassed them.”  Perhaps become the threat to his freedom he had never had reason to fear before.

Dirt clung to his skin, another blemish that shouldn’t have been there, but one he could easily fix. He had returned with just such an intention, a bowl of water at his side.

Dipping a cloth he rang the piece until only dampness remained and pressed its cooling touch to the sleeping man’s face, softened the stains of dried dirt on his skin and wiped them away.  Careful, so very careful, of the swollen flesh of his battered face, and conscious of the discomfort that he did not wish him to wake with.

Rinse, ring, repeat – gently working the lingering grime from skin much softer than it appeared, he smiled when a soft pleased noise sounded from the patient, the barest nudge against his hand as he tried and failed to turn into the cloth and Hannibal’s touch.

He needed to meet this boy, properly.

They needed to have a conversation.

OoOoO

The gentle caress of hands and feel of cool water against his skin pulled at him from the ocean of darkness and pain. He had been swallowed, lost and drifting in the endless void of bone deep aches and slumber and now there was a touch.  A focus for his mind to cling to as he drifted, like a line to follow back to shore.

The cool touch of cloth and warmth of gentle hands was soothing, easing the pain and leaving skin tingling in the wake.  It made him want to move into that touch, follow it as it left his body.  He wanted to reach for those soothing hands and bring them back – he might have, had he the strength to do so.  Instead he remained still, let his mind climb closer and closer to consciousness as he listened to the sound of water wringing and waited for the cloth’s return.  He wasn’t tempted to open his eyes yet, the idea of fighting against the heavy weight of his eyelids daunting at best.  He was still too tired, too close to slipping back to the darkness.

He should have been concerned.  Will had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there, but it was hard to care when his mind felt so heavy. The touch that coaxed aching limbs to move and worked the joints of his elbow and fingers to wash away the grime from his skin and grit from under his nails – it felt good, relieving.

“Good evening Mr. Graham.”  The voice that greeted him, deep and smooth, curled around the consonants of his name like smoke from one of Nigel’s cigarettes – but it didn’t sound like Nigel.  The melody of his voice a little deeper, a little darker and laced with far less emotion than the businessman who wore his emotions for the world to see on his sleeve – now he needed to look.

Will forced tired eyes to peek out into the world, his vision a hazy blur as he waited for his partial vision to adjust and reveal the generic suspended ceiling tiles of a hospital, instead he blinked with lazy unfocus at the blue painted ceiling of someone’s home.  Someone who was not Nigel. He’d seen the man’s ceiling whilst on his back: white.

“Where am I?”  Will asked, wincing as pain moved through his jaw with the shift of swollen muscle around his face.  He had been kicked and the skin around his jaw was tight with swelling.

“You are safe in my home and in my care.”  He looked in the direction of the voice, spotting Nigel.  No that wasn’t right, a man who looked like Nigel, the owner of the voice a carbon copy of his stalker sitting at his side.

With sleeves rolled up to his elbow, a bowl on a nightstand with a once white cloth folded and draped over its side, the man could have been Nigel, if Nigel held the air of a gentleman instead of a thug.  “My name is Hannibal Lecter, I am a doctor.”  He was watching Will almost studiously, with eyes the color of bloodied earth and features as still as marble.  The small shifts he made, canting his head in a slight tilt as he watched Will try to rise, it was almost reptilian. Will attempted to lever himself onto elbows and examine his being – the extent of damage sustained – and failed, falling back against his pillow with barely a glance and a groan. 

“Could you please tell me the last thing you remember?” the man asked, slipping an arm beneath Will’s shoulders to ease him forward. He propped another pillow beneath him, elevating him just enough to allow him to see down the planes of his own naked body and the sheet that lay folded back across his hips.

“Where’s Nigel?” he asked instead. Will wouldn’t trust the man at his side to be anything beyond a warm body until he saw Nigel and knew for sure they hadn’t been brought back to one of Verger’s personal hideaways to save for later.

“Mr. Lascăr is resting.”  Hannibal answered, bringing a penlight into view, checking his eyes.

“I’d like to see him.”

“You should be resting as well.”

“I need to see him.”  That seemed to strike something in the strange man, a slight narrowing of his eyes, a moment of tension in his jaw.  Displeasure, but not for the repeated request, patients are demanding, that’s expected from anyone waking from trauma.  It was the subject of the request.

Patience eased over the micro-tension that had crossed Hannibal’s face. “In the morning. I cannot wake a sleeping patient, especially after sustaining the injury in his side.  But he is in good health, better than yourself.”

It was meant to ease Will, but it could have been only a false comfort. Something to tide him over until the morning when it would be too late to save himself if this were a trap. 

“This isn’t a hospital,” Will pointed out even as the man dipped the abandoned cloth back into water. The hands wringing the fabric, so similar to Nigel’s, resumed their task of cleaning dirt from his body.

“As I said before, this is my home.” Carefully he moved the sheet, keeping Will’s privacy as he worked down the length of his legs, around bandages, tape and gauze. Will could feel the stinging of his wounds beneath.  He wondered how many of those cuts had been given stitches, how many scars would mare his skin with mottled spots. “I am a private doctor for Mr. Lascăr, he comes to me when he requires medical attention.”

If he worked for Nigel, that would explain the house instead of hospital.  Nigel would keep his distance from anywhere someone could easily find him.  Like an injured cat looking for a safe place to hide while licking its wounds.  “Do you only work for Nigel?”

“Surgically, yes.  I haven’t worked as a surgeon in a hospital in many years.”  In quick clinical strokes he cleaned Will’s intimacy and was done, a fresh sheet laying over him up to his shoulders.  Despite the detachment, Will still felt heat warming his face.  The man looked so close to Nigel, that his touch, even if only to clean, was unnerving.

“Are you his cousin or something?”  A barely visible brow arched at the sudden change in questioning.  “Nigel's? You look like you could be his twin.”

A smile, small and tight and untelling, there was a truth to be told and he wasn’t sharing.  “You should rest Mr. Graham.”

Swallowing hard to feel his dry throat stick, he watched the doctor take the bowl and turn to leave, his steps even and quiet across the hardwood floor.

Will listened to the sound of padding footsteps down a hall, presumably to bathroom or kitchen to dump the water.  He might have let his mind wander toward thoughts of impending death, but why would Hannibal have helped him at all if he intended to end him as soon as he woke?  At the very least he would wait until Will was healed enough to enjoy a longer struggle, but then why hide it at all?  That wasn’t like Verger.  He would have wanted Will to know that he was being revived only to suffer. He would make sure his every waking moment would be one lived in fear.

But Verger is dead.  Will reminded himself of the shot to the gut, trigger pulled against the man’s stomach.  Nigel had finished Verger off before he’d come for Will.

Will could remember that, all of it, right up until the pass of light and darkness through the windows – streetlights most likely – from their drive.  He’d lost consciousness while listening to the deep rumble of Nigel’s voice on the phone.

Biting his lip he tried to move, felt every bone in his body groan as pain shifted through him like a wave.  But it was an ache, deep and moaning, not the fiery pain he knew would be waiting for him once whatever meds Hannibal had fed into the saline solution of his IV wore off, but pain enough to stop Will from wanting to move.

He’d expected Will to run.

He bit his lip harder and tried again, shifting back the sheet to feel fabric sweep over skin – and stopped. He was naked.  His clothes – what was left of them – would have been cut away for the surgery.  Gripping the blanket tight he worked to throw his feet over the side instead, holding the cotton against him as he pushed himself to sitting.

It was difficult and uncomfortable.  Still, he managed to bring himself upright and touched his feet to the floor.  Cool tiles chilled his toes and he wiggled them against the floor, testing his dexterity.  Sore muscles complained but everything seemed to work.  Easing himself a little at a time he slid from the bed onto shaky feet, gripping the intravenous pole for the support it wasn’t meant to give and walked, one slow shaky step after another.  It was harder than he’d thought, draining him with the effort to drag himself from bed to door.  Unless Nigel was outside the room waiting for him, he wouldn’t have the strength to find him.

He hurt, a different pain from the sharp burn of open wounds and a fresh fall, this was the deep-seated ache of muscles and bone and healing.  Will doubted he would be up at all if not for the morphine or whatever Hannibal had given him.  Pausing at the door, breath heavy and body tired, he leaned against it, rested his weight between pole and wood as he waited for any amount of energy to return to him, listening for sounds of life outside.

Silence greeted him and with a breath that made his ribs groan he opened the door and peered out.

“I may not have been present, but I’m sure my husband must have asked you to rest.”

A woman, elegant and beautiful in the way that royalty is, sat across the hall in what appeared to be a large sitting room, a glass of wine by her side and a book in her hand.  She slipped a marker between the pages, eyes on Will as she closed the novel, set it by her side, and gave her full attention to the naked man standing with draping sheet and IV pole in the doorway

“I need to see Nigel,” he clarified.  She was as alien as the doctor, poised, quiet and studious.  He felt like a bug under a microscope.  It made him want Nigel and the safety he could provide even more.

“Your doctor would argue that you should be resting.”

“Is that why you’re here?  To make sure I don’t leave?”

“No,” she answered, thoughtful for a moment before rising to meet him at the door.  “I was waiting for when you chose to leave.”

A guard then. “You mean when I tried to escape.  You were waiting to stop me.”

“Not stop you,” she touched his shoulder, guiding him away from the room and toward a flight of stairs, “I was going to aid you.”

He frowned, following with small shuffled footsteps to the stairs that could have been a fucking mountain for all the energy he had left in him to climb them.  “To get away from Nigel or Hannibal?”

“Both.” A hand on his elbow she helped him up the steps, one slow movement after another.  She carried the intravenous and he clung to the rail, used the mounted wood to pull himself up each step and keep his feet beneath him.

He would have fallen at the top if not for the hand that gripped his arm.  He held onto her, more weight on the guiding woman than he’d wanted as he followed her with slowing steps to a door.

With a curious look to the blond who’d brought him here, he took the handle and turned, pushed and frowned.  It was stuck.  Something jammed behind it to keep the door closed. For some reason that seemed to make her smile.

“Nigel?” he asked the door, hopeful.  There was nothing for a long moment and then he heard the clatter of a chair knocked to the side and the door flew open.

Nigel, the real Nigel, took him in from head to toe – ignoring the sheet in favor of his face.  Fear and worry painted him as he took Will into his arms, held the boy against him as he had at the warehouse and meet the woman’s gaze. “Thanks.”  One word, an ocean of gratitude behind it, and he closed the door.

Nigel didn’t ask if he was okay.  He was awake and that was more than enough for him. He carried Will, careful of the deep tender wounds he knew to be hidden beneath the gauze to his bed, and laid him out where he’d been sitting moments before, standing the IV at the bedside.  He could watch him now, guard him through the night and into the morning and know he was safe and alive.

Will watched him, let the bad man lay him out over the bed and tuck him comfortably beneath soft blankets better than his sheet.  He let fingers smelling of tobacco and gun smoke push back the corkscrew curls of his hair and just watched, met his honey eyes and read the tsunami of want hidden within.

Not all desire was sexual.  Not all want was physical.  Not all pleasure was carnal.

Nigel – there was more to what he wanted from Will than a one night stand and there was something far beyond the possession of ownership.  He didn’t want to keep Will as a thing.  He wanted him as a lover, one to sit with, care for and talk with as much as kiss and caress.

Nigel’s hand fell away and he turned from him, away from Will and the bed.  The grasp of fingers catching his own, tight and tugging had him turning back around to meet with fearful blue-grey eyes.  “I won’t leave darling,” he promised, “I’m just gonna grab the chair.”  He assured, he’d sleep there, give Will the distance he needed and the security he craved.  He wouldn’t push for anything, not now, now with Will like this.  He needed to heal, he needed to feel safe and rest.

“Stay.” Will tugged his hand again and Nigel followed, something swelling and shattering in his chest at the same time as he climbed onto the bed next to his beautiful Will, settled over the blankets he lay hidden beneath, pressed against his side.

“Okay.” He was on his bad side but refused to move, he wouldn’t ruin something like this for comfort’s sake. “I won’t go anywhere.” He slid an arm over the small hidden waist and let their foreheads touch, breath mingling as he watched the tension melt from Will's face, fingers gripping his hand tight until he drifted off to sleep.

This is what he'd wanted.

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are throwing antiseptic at each other while your comments scout the house for bodies. 
> 
> The author and Diedofeunni are getting wasted with Bedelia.


	17. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Hannibal have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all happy with yourselves because this shit show just got longer. BLAST YOUR BEAUTIFUL COMMENTS, ENTHUSIASM AND SUPPORT!!!!
> 
> So, with the popular demand for some Hannibal creeping in the story I'm adding a few more chapters and will be writing an alternate ending. Maybe it's because season 3 is driving the HanniGram ship full fucking steam ahead or maybe it's because I've missed writing him while working on this Nigel/Will story but I wanna take this in another direction without abandoning the original story so you guys are getting (probably?) five more chapters or so with two endings. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading~<3
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Beta read by Diedofennui~<3 <3 <3

Nigel awoke to the welcome warmth of a body pressed against his own and the gentle breathing of his lover in sleep.  If it weren’t for the screaming pain in his side and the unwelcome presence of another disturbing their moment, Nigel would have called it a perfect fucking morning.

Lazy honey eyes turned to take in the doctor who stood with hands pocketed at the foot of the bed, the Doctor’s own deep maroon eyes watching him with far more interest than Nigel liked focused on his sleeping form.  His hand tightened around the gun hidden beneath his pillow, and he slipped off the safety.

Neither spoke, a silent stare down to see who would break contact first and make the first move.

Nigel didn’t like that the man had made it into his room unnoticed.  It bothered him like fur brushed the wrong way bothered a cat, only he was a whole lot bigger and deadlier than anything domestic.

It had never happened before, not to Nigel.  He took fucking pride in his survival instincts and the ability to wake and fire at the drop of a pin from the deepest sleep.

This shouldn’t have happened.

The doctor broke their gaze first, looking from Nigel to the young man sleeping at his side.  Nigel followed the look to a fresh bag of saline linked to the IV that dripped fluid into Will’s arm.  Lecter hadn’t just entered the room to watch them like a creepy fuck while they slept, he’d come in and handled Nigel’s darling without him noticing.

It made something dark and possessive twist inside him.

He didn’t like that.

Lecter hadn’t just come to watch Nigel, to plan his dinner or whatever fucking else he might like to do with a body, he was here to watch Will.

Nigel pulled the sleeping man closer, a shift that tucked his fuzzy head of curls under his chin, making the boy murmur, and lifted the gun from its place of hiding to aim at the ‘good’ Doctor’s face.

It made him smile.  Not the reaction Nigel was hoping for.  Hannibal turned his eyes from the barrel back to Will, watching him another half second before Nigel made the unnecessary motion of cocking his gun.

Cocking was always for show.  He bought double action weapons, less time wasted pulling back a hammer and more time focused on filling some poor fuck with lead.  He didn’t need to cock with a double-action.  Those dark maroon eyes seemed to lose some of their mirth with the threat, narrowing as he took Nigel in., measuring the sincerity of the silent demand for him to turn the fuck around and leave.

The only thing saving Lecter – as far as Nigel was concerned – was Nigel’s need for a good fucking surgeon on speed dial, one with a flexible set of morals.

Hannibal takes a breath, only marginally deeper than his breathing at ease, and Nigel is aware that this is the refined man’s version of a sigh, nearly unnoticeable, as he turns to take his leave.

Nigel keeps the gun on him all the way to the door, finger tight on the trigger, where Lecter stops, looking back over his shoulder to motion with a simple hand gesture for Nigel to follow.

It has every warning bell going off in the bad man’s head as he watches him turn the corner and leave.

He wants to have a conversation with Hannibal, but Nigel doesn’t want to leave Will anywhere in the mansion alone.  Du Maurier may have helped him before, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t turn on him to keep her husband from placating his ire on her.  Good survival instinct often required moral flexibility.  Nigel could respect that.

He remained where he was, gun trained on the empty door for what felt like several long minutes before flicking the safety back on and lowering his aim.  If Lecter wanted to speak with him – he rationalized – it might have something to do with Will’s injuries and he wasn’t about to fuck around with that. He also didn’t want to piss the man off when, so far, all he’d done was a quiet medical procedure and a little staring.

Nigel could be convicted for a hell of a lot worse, he just didn’t like that the man had done it without his knowing.

With one last look to the beautiful boy curled into his side, Nigel combed stray haphazard curls back from Will’s face, pressed a feather light kiss to his forehead, and gingerly pulled himself away from the boy, disentangling Will’s fingers from his hair with a wide toothy smile.

This was definitely something he could get used to.

Pleased to see Will sleeping and sorry to go, he growled a few low choice curses and left the room, comforted by the weight of deadly steel in hand – his thumb on the safety and finger on the trigger as he turned into the hallway and descended the stairs.

He could smell bacon:  smoky, rich and anything but fucking pork, frying in the kitchen. It made his mouth water and his stomach turn.

Nigel was fucked up. He could admit that he was broken and wrong in enough ways to keep a therapist happy as a clam for weeks picking apart his brain. Hannibal?  He was his own twisted kind of crazy that had even Nigel thinking twice about pissing him off.

Stepping into the kitchen he found Lecter adding the finishing touches to two breakfast plates, coffee ready and waiting for each on the large dining room table. 

“Good morning Mr. Lascăr.” he greeted, as though Nigel hadn’t just caught him watching he and Will sleep. As if Nigel hadn’t just threatened to paint the bedroom walls with his grey matter. “How is your side?”

He watched the man carry plates of scrambled eggs and thick cuts of bacon to the table.  “It fucking hurts,” he stated flatly, shoving his gun in the back of his jeans as he took a seat across from the cannibal.  There was no point in retaining his weapon. If he was about to dine with Hannibal and the man wanted Nigel dead, he’d just poison the fucking eggs and be done with it.

“I would offer you something for the pain, but I fear it’s an offer you’d most likely refuse.”

“Good call,” Nigel told him, eyeing the coffee before reluctantly taking a sip.  It was good, amazing, even if potentially poisoned.

Lecter smiled as he watched Nigel devour a forkful of eggs. “I hadn’t expected you to eat.”

“I’m cautious,” Nigel allowed, “comes with the job.”  But Hannibal already had enough chances to finish Nigel off, if he’d really wanted to, while watching them sleep. It was enough to have him eating breakfast only marginally paranoid.

He glanced around the kitchen, looking for the body parts before asking around a second bite of egg, “Where’s the wife?”

“Predisposed I’m afraid.”

Nigel eyed the bacon a long moment before picking up a piece.  It looked like any other strip of crispy fried meat, harmless, cured by smoke and warmed in a pan.  “Work or breakfast?”  he asked, looking from the meat to the man smiling across from him.  He made a point of taking a bite, snapping the rasher between teeth.

I know your secret.

He finished the strip and washed it down with more coffee.

Never show weakness to another predator, never show fear.

It only seemed to make the small easy smile on the doctor’s face grow.  “Work; she had a morning appointment.”

Nigel would believe that when he saw the beautiful blond come back to the house and not turn up in a ditch somewhere – whatever was left of her.  “Why were you in my room?”

“I was checking on my patients.”  He said it so casually Nigel wanted to reach over the table and stab him with his fork.

“You were watching us sleep,” he accused, taking another, deeper, swallow of coffee.  It was good and he was more than a little fucking tired.  Caffeine was a necessity to keep him from passing out on the goddamn table. 

“I was watching your breathing.  You slept on the wrong side Nigel, it was labored with pain, as was Will’s.  His was easy to fix with a fresh cocktail in his intravenous, yours provides greater challenge as you refuse proper medical aid.”

That had Nigel pausing, gaze turning to the coffee cup as he felt his tired mind grow a little more fuzzy, the pain in his side begin to ebb.  He could have laughed for having seen it coming and partaking anyway.

“You drugged me,” he slurred, eyes narrowing at the man who watched him with utter calm across the table. Hannibal cut a piece of bacon, eating with knife and fork as Nigel slipped from his chair. He fell hard, tried to stand again, and felt his legs give beneath him, chair clattering to the floor behind him as he tried and failed to catch his balance.

The Doctor enjoyed another bite of cured meat before touching a cloth napkin to his mouth. He stepped around the table to meet the angry gaze of his patient.  “You threatened me this morning Nigel, I don’t take kindly to threats.”

That would have been good to know 10 minutes ago in bed. Nigel would have shot the bastard and looked for a new fucking doctor. Instead, he’d cocked the fucking thing and given Hannibal the chance to get the fuck out.  This was why he didn’t threaten people.

He slurred something incoherent and Hannibal smiled, crouching down by his fallen patient. He took Nigel by the chin and turned his head up to face him, meeting those honey eyes with his own bloody gaze, debating what to do with the prone man.

If he truly wanted Will, wanted to keep the boy without concern for Nigel’s interference, this would be the most opportune moment to dismiss him.

But then…

“I won’t kill you Nigel,” he said at last, pushing an arm under Nigel’s shoulder to bring the fallen man to unsteady feet. Hannibal carried his dead weight nearly effortlessly through his home and into his surgical ward, laying him on the bed of fresh sheets that Will had been resting in the night before.  “Unlike you, I still remember where we came from and I am loath to destroy the last of our living family over a boy, even one as brilliant as William.”

It was the confirmation Nigel hadn’t been looking for, but had known all the same to be true.  He blinked, dazed, up at the Doctor who made quick work to repair the broken sutures on his side and re-clean his wounds.

Nigel had aimed a gun and Hannibal had drugged him, both offering warning to the other, both offering lenience for their trespasses.  Now they were even, except Hannibal wasn’t done yet.  He was taking things a step farther.

Another lazy blink was Nigel’s answer.  He was fighting sleep with every remaining ounce of self-awareness left in him, fingers twitching against the bedding as he tried to regain himself.  It all depended how much of that fucking poison he’d drank.

“Do you use recreational drugs regularly Nigel?”  the Doctor asked, re-bandaging his broken side.  “Most would have succumbed to the drug by now.”

Nigel could feel himself fading, it was harder to keep his eyes open, to keep his mind focused on anything at all. He barely followed the lulling murmur of the near identical voice above him, but still he watched.  Hannibal’s too familiar lips smiled thin and wide in something that would never have sat on Nigel’s rugged face.  He felt the tug of leather straps when they were pulled tight around his limbs.  “I think it’s time you remembered where you came from Nigel.”

He couldn’t pull at the bands that held him. He could barely twitch his fingers or twist his arms, listening to the soft clink of glass bottles on a metal shelf, the doctor returning with an elastic band and syringe in hand.  Hannibal slid the thick band of rubber around Nigel’s bicep, tying it tight, and smiled as a thick blue vein presented itself beneath tan skin.

“What I’m administering,” he said, swabbing skin with alcohol soaked gauze, “is a drug called sodium thiopental.”   He slipped the needle’s tip beneath skin and shot clear liquid into Nigel’s vein.

He couldn’t stop it, but he could feel it moving, a cool ice climbing up his arm, following the river of blood into his body to saturate his brain.

Deep maroon watched bright honey as dark pupils dilated with the fast-acting drug.

“This will help you remember Nigel,” he told him again, taking the minutes younger man’s hand into his own to squeeze for half a moment in comfort.  Nails sunk into him in a return of violence that made him smile and he released the biting grasp to bring a chair by Nigel’s bedside, sitting to watch as his brother was made to remember their past.

OoOoO 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are eating breakfast while your comments are guarding Will.


	18. Fucked Up Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little of Hannibal's inner monologue and Will comes downstairs for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently received another piece of beautiful fanart I must share because I'm loving all the beautiful pieces I've been receiving for this story. I honestly can't thank Azm0n enough for having taken the hours to draw this for me, along with all the other pieces I know that been colored and sketched for this~<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Just thank you. 
> 
> And thank you to anyone else who had drawn or doodled or sketched something in the name of this or any other story I've created. Thank you so, so, much. 
> 
> With that on with the show!!!
> 
> I own nothing. 
> 
> Beta read by the amazing DiedofEnnui who wastes all your valuable time on my foolish stories~<3
> 
> http://azm0n.tumblr.com/post/122923682712/no-hand-pain-is-going-to-stop-me-from-drawing

Hannibal sat quiet in the small makeshift medical ward of his home, watching with a curious tilt as Nigel succumbed to the drug with huffing breaths and jerking limbs.  It had been years since Hannibal had seen his brother fight against his nightmares like this, violent and desperate.  Not since they’d suffered in the orphanage, the place that had stolen the last of their innocence – what little had remained – and brought about their rebirth as monsters. 

Whereas Hannibal had become withdrawn, affected by reactive mutism for years after the trauma of their sister, Nigel had become belligerent.  His primary focus became the protection of Hannibal. He would do little do aide himself in the orphanage, but everything to aide his older brother, picking fights and earning straps for Hannibal’s sake.

For a time the caretakers had tried to separate them, arranging their seating and altering sleeping arrangements that kept Nigel from being by his silent brother’s side.  The experiment had ended when Nigel’s violence and subsequent punishments doubled in the face of their separation. Nigel remained Hannibal’s protector until the beast awoke within his twin, and Hannibal had lead them both away from their former family home, a pool of blood in their wake.

The bodies of those other boys, as the missing persons report would read, had yet to be found.  Given the hidden alcove that Hannibal had trapped them in, walled off alive, it was doubtful that they would ever be found, at least until the walls caved in and bones were discovered amongst the ruins.

Once the brothers had escaped, found their way across Europe to their uncle’s estate and began a sort of healing with their aunt, Hannibal’s night terrors began to ease. With time, his voice chose to return, greatly the result of their aunt’s infinite patience and gentle guidance. Eventually, Nigel’s night terrors too began to subside, jerking movements and muttered groans replacing his violent outbursts.

They had been uncontrollable in sleep for a time. Hannibal would wake screaming, throat made raw by the terror that tore from him. Beside him, Nigel fought against the shadows of their shared past with violent thrashing and skin-splitting bites.  He’d drawn blood more than once from those who’d try to wake him from his fits, and suffered the strap many times more for movements he could not control.

Now, as then, sweat slicked Nigel’s skin to sour the air with salt and fear, soaking into the bedsheets to stain.  It was a scent Hannibal had been all too familiar with in his youth – even if he never spoke of it – their beds side-by-side where he could scent his twin nightly, listen to Nigel’s nightmares when he wasn’t suffering his own, watch the thrashing of legs and fists. 

Hannibal had not missed this sight.

“Ha-Han-” Nigel arched against his restraints, sweat rolling down the elegant line of his jaw and neck.  He was suffering, and Hannibal knew exactly what pain it was that painted his dreams now as he was made to remember.

Blood, snow… and a little girl they’d never seen again.

He’d seen it all too many times himself.

Nigel jerked again against the restraints, hand fisted for blows against captors long dead.  Hannibal looked at that fist now, clenched tight enough to have tanned skin showing white and blunt nails biting into flesh.  Nigel twisted, cried against the nightmares, a howling scream that made Hannibal rise.  He knew that scream.  He remembered hearing it, the last sound his brother made before he’d disappeared, before he’d forgotten.

Long fingers stroked the stray strands of ashen hair back from his brother’s tormented face, smeared the stream of tears from sleeping eyes, before Hannibal turned and left the room. 

“Mish-Mischa, Mish-” 

He closed the door, quiet, careful not to wake the brother he tortured with truths.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for this Nigel,”  he said quietly.

There are some things even Hannibal, for all his cruelty and emotional distance, can only live through once.  Watching his brother relive the death of their sister is one of these things.

The door quieted the shrill cries behind it to a sobbed hum.  Hannibal would great him when he woke, and they would talk.  He would fill the gaps still missing from Nigel’s memory and then they would be a family again.

He locked the door, slipping the key from lock and pocketing it to keep Nigel from being disturbed during his most private of moments.  Hannibal had been grateful that when he’d taken the serum in his youth, neither Nigel nor his aunt intruded upon him in process.  He would give his younger twin the same privacy.

Turning from the pained sounds, Hannibal returned to the kitchen.  Breakfast would be cold by now, garbage.  It was a disappointing waste of food, but a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of Nigel’s rehabilitation.

Scraping cold eggs into a compost bin beneath the sink, Hannibal set to work cleaning the dishes.  He would examine Will when he finished, would give the boy a proper checkup now that Hannibal didn’t have a gun and sleepy psychopath to contend with.  It is always easier to work when one’s life isn’t being threatened.

The soft shuffle of fabric sliding on stairs and tapping of metal on wood had the doctor smiling.  He placed the last of dishes in the drying wrack and whipped soap suds from his forearms as he listened to the slow uneven steps through the dining room to the door of his kitchen.

Remarkable boy.

“Where’s Nigel?” 

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder to Will.  He was pale, leaning against the doorway, breathing labored with the effort to carry himself from the stairs to the doctor. A thin sheen of sweat slicked his skin, sticking the blanket that he clutched to his skin.

“You should be resting,” Hannibal suggested, turning to face the young man and better enjoy the view. 

Will’s sheet didn’t hide much.  The thin white fabric clinging to sweat damp skin revealing the sharp curves and dipping contours of his body, the shadow of pubic hair nestled at his groin.  Hannibal’s smile widened as he tried to meet stormy eyes and found them locked firmly on his hands instead.  Good.  Will hadn’t noticed his wandering gaze.

“I’m fine,” Will lied. “Did he leave?” 

The suggestion of Nigel’s abandonment had him shifting, discomfort visible in the minute shuffle of feet against nervous energy.

“His side tore this morning while venturing downstairs for breakfast,” Hannibal explained, returning his dishtowel to hang before helping the shaking boy to the plush leather seat in the corner of his kitchen.  It would be more comfortable than the chairs at his table for Will’s hip to rest against, something soft to sink into, and preferable to offering Will additional sedative.

“I’m afraid I needed to re-close the wound.  He’s resting in the operating room now,” Hannibal elaborated.

He placed a hand to Will’s forehead to feel for fever, checking for oncoming infections now that he had the man in front of him.

Will lifted his chin to allow the doctor easy access of his face and neck, to check the swelling around his jaw and measure the timing of his pulse.  He shifted in his chair, slow and pained when Hannibal moved his hands away from the bruising on his jaw, seemingly satisfied with the state of healing.

“I’m sorry.”  Will offered, catching the doctor off guard with the unexpected apology.

Pale brows rose, maroon eyes lifting to meet with stormy blue before Will’s gaze quickly averted to Hannibal’s lips, skittish of eye contact. 

“Sorry for what?”

Will shifted again, possibly the discomfort of sitting on his wounded hip, or more likely the close proximity of the man he’d found so unnerving the day before.  Hannibal’s touches were still casual, clinical and quick.  They didn’t linger the way Nigel’s did, but Will could still feel them on his skin after the hand had been lifted, lingering in his mind.  

“Sorry that…well, I was looking for Nigel, but I shouldn’t have wandered through your house, ” Will admitted.

He’d known Hannibal had found him in Nigel’s room when he’d woken that morning to find the full IV bag hanging from the hook.  It would have been empty long since if they’d been the same ones from the night before. He stole a momentary peek at the doctor’s handsome face and found only stillness there.  It was eerie how hard the man was to read, like a blank canvas staring back at him.  When he looked at Nigel it was like plunging into an endless sea of emotion and chaos, with Hannibal…it was like standing in a desert.

“Given the circumstances, and my wife’s aid in your search, I believe it is in me to forgive this trespass.” 

After a pause, he surprised Will with the slightest of smiles, warming the edges of his mouth, friendly in a quiet, polite way.

Will nodded, biting his lip in the old comforting habit he hadn’t been able to break, and tried to stay still as the doctor finished his quick examination. A ruddy blush warmed his skin when Hannibal shifted the sheet wrapped around him enough to examine the hidden wounds and bandages beneath. 

“Nothing appears to be infected, but I’d like to give you a prescription for penicillin to be on the safe side.”  Too many cuts from foreign objects to be going without.

“Sure.”  Will said, happy it was only penicillin and not something his student medical insurance couldn’t handle. 

The ping of a migraine – either head injury or caffeine withdrawal –pulsed, making Will desperately wish for a cup of coffee. He knew it was a request that Hannibal would most likely deny.  Doctors had a tendency to encourage unfavorable amounts of bed rest over blissful caffeine.

Will couldn’t deny he felt drowsy, bone tired even after so much sleep, but disliked the idea of climbing up those stairs and lying down for another nap in a stranger’s house. He knew it was to be expected after sustaining so many injuries, he just didn’t want to do it.  What he wanted was coffee and Nigel.

He wondered how irritated his host would be if he were to ask for his dangerous companion, as he had yesterday.  Will didn’t believe he was in danger anymore, not with the way Nigel had left him unguarded to sleep in a room of his own and then again for breakfast.  He wouldn’t have abandoned him in sleep if Hannibal was a danger to them, but then again, that didn’t mean Will was comfortable having Nigel’s look alike flipping over his sheet.

Exam finished, the doctor finally stepped away, leaving Will to pull his shield of cotton a little tighter around himself, watching the doctor as he walked the short distance to the fridge. 

“Are you hungry Mr. Graham?”  Hannibal asked, opening the appliance before Will could answer, gathering eggs, ham and cream.  “I don’t suppose your appetite has been very healthy as of late.  Nor would I blame you, but I must insist that you eat.”

Will tucked his arms a little tighter around himself and felt the press of ribs against his palms.  This man had seen him naked – multiple times – since his arrival yesterday and he was a doctor.  It wouldn’t take more than a glance for him to reach the obvious conclusion that Will wasn’t eating right, not with his too prominent ribs.

Will watched with interest as Nigel’s carbon copy moved with utter grace from fridge to island – it was entirely unlike Nigel’s casual saunter, and yet the movements were made with the same long legs and narrow hips.  It was strange, the men were obviously twins – whether they recognized that truth or not – and though they looked as though they had been pressed from the same mold, perfect duplicates of one another, they were two entirely different men, unmistakably so. 

“I think a lot of college students have that problem,” Will said after a moment, answering Hannibal’s unspoken concern regarding his weight.

“I believe you’re right.” 

Hannibal pulled down a skillet, grabbed a bowl and whisk, and began what looked like a complicated breakfast with quick easy movements. 

“Too much coffee and to many ready-made meals.” He cast a look to Will, nearly accusing. “If they bother to take the time to eat at all.” 

Warmth crept beneath Will’s skin as he watched Hannibal work, heating the pan, cutting an English muffin to toast, and taking down a cup for coffee with quick efficiency.  No wasted energy in his precision of movements. 

“But I believe your problem may stem from something more recent,” Hannibal continued.

He cracked an egg into the pan and added another – separating white from yoke – into a bowl, adding cream to whisk.

It was true that Nigel certainly hadn’t helped Will’s poor eating habits. He was fairly sure the only food he’d eaten since meeting the man was a couple of calas and a pancake.  If it weren’t for the cocktail being dripped into his system, he’d probably be dead. 

“It’s been worse than usual lately, yeah.”

“Then I will have to make a point of feeding you during your time in my care.”  And draw Will to him like a stray.  Offer the creature the necessities to draw him near until the time he come seeking on his own, trust established.

Will looked at him with the same unease that Hannibal would have expected from an abused dog, unsure, untrusting, but wanting it, desiring that little bit of something safe and sure.

Though Hannibal was neither of these things, he was patient enough to wait until such a time as the boy believed he was.

“How long will I be in your care?”  Will asked, unsure.  “When can I go back to school?”

Hannibal was arranging his breakfast:  muffin, bacon, eggs, and a gold colored sauce.  A sprig of parsley on the side, presumably for color, and then he was walking the plate to Will with a fork and a smile.  “I think it would be best if you took a few weeks off to heal.  You’ve sustained more than a few serious injuries Mr. Graham.”

“You can call me ‘Will,’…please .” 

He accepted the plate, mouth already watering from the heady smell of eggs benedict. “This smells delicious.” 

He decided to let his thoughts of school and a return to normal life go for now in favor of food.  He knew, despite his desire to get back to his dorm and classes and normal life – that he would most likely be out of commission for the rest of the semester.  He couldn’t work with the pain in his hip, and he knew there was more damage from his fall with the dark purple bruising on his back and legs, the deep cut in his thigh amongst the dozen smaller ones. He wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for some time, and he could count himself lucky if he could keep up with the online notes and worksheets to pass even one of his end of term exams with the amount of class he was about to miss.  There was no way he’d be sitting in a hard plastic chair anytime soon, not with the pain radiating thorough him sitting in the soft leather seat in Hannibal’s kitchen with morphine dripping into his veins.

Hannibal observed Will lost in the recesses of thought and gently called his attention back: “Just ‘Will,’ then. And you can call me Hannibal.”

The doctor smiled, something a little wider that had small lines creasing around his eyes. He stepped behind Will, hands on the sides of his chair, pre-empting with an “excuse me,” before pushing Will’s seat closer to the countertop. It was obvious that Hannibal did not allow regular dining in armchairs or couches.  The dining room set was to be used for every meal with a man that held the air of desiring a proper setting whenever he ate.  No takeout in the car for Hannibal.

That meant Will was being given special treatment. 

“I believe that adaptation should make things a little easier for you.” 

It would certainly be better than leaning over his plate to reach the cup on the floor.  Less twisting and pressure from unnecessary moments jarring things that wanted to stay still.

“Thank you,” Will smiled back, stealing a glance at deep maroon eyes. 

That gaze was probably the most different trait between the brothers.  Both men had brown eyes, but where Nigel’s seem to hold golden undertones that made Will think of rich brandy and sweet honey, Hannibal’s were a rare shade of red he’d only ever heard of once in high school biology.

Coffee at last in reach, Will sipped the much needed caffeine and felt the muscles in his shoulders melt, tension unwinding with the delivery of his precious beverage.  It was heavenly, easily the best coffee he’d ever had. 

“This is excellent; the coffee and the food.”  He licked his lips, catching the lingering taste of bitter sweet from his lips. “Did you take a culinary course when you were younger?”

“I learned to cook though passion, trial and error.” 

Will wondered what sort of mistakes Hannibal might have made learning the skill.  He made it look so effortless. The idea of this man burning a cake or over-salting a stew seemed absurd.

“You’d never know,” Will said, letting the doctor switch his empty mug for a full one, whisking away the dirty dishes as he went, loading them into a dishwasher by the sink. 

“Thank you, again. For fixing me up and taking care of Nigel.” He lifted the coffee cup, already partly enjoyed. “And for the breakfast.  You didn’t have to do any of this for me.”

He smiled a little into the mug.  Perhaps it was finally eating after too many days going without, or maybe the drugs gently numbing his system, but he was finally starting to relax. A little of the paranoia that had been haunting him for nearly a week ebbed away and allowed calm take its place. 

“You’re welcome, though I don’t feel there is much choice in feeding a patient, especially when that patient is someone close to Nigel.”  He glanced to his watch. “It’s been about an hour since I left him to rest.  If you would excuse me, I’ll quickly check on Nigel, and then see about finding you something to wear.”

Will nodded, “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

“Just wait here, I won’t be more than a few minutes.”  With a courteous smile to the young man finding more and more ease in his presence, Hannibal slipped away from the kitchen and returned to his makeshift medical ward. Will’s sense of ease was something he would work to cultivate. Eventually, their light casual touching would progress to their shoulders brushing without a thought from the younger man.

Nigel’s screaming had stopped, no sounds of terror emanating through the door.  It was a promising start.  He slipped his key into the lock and opened the door, stepping into the darkened room that stank of sweat and fear. 

“Good morning Nigel,” he said to the man watching him with heaving breaths and a sweat soaked brow.  There would be bruises from the restraints, dark purple from his thrashing already visible on his wrists.

“You,” Nigel croaked from the bed, mouth dry and throat raw from screaming, breath coming in great heaves, “you’re fucked up Hanni.”

The doctor smiled, thin and wide, nothing like the usual mask he allowed others to see: this smile held barest hint of teeth.

“So are you.”

OoOoO

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are trying to kiss Will's booboo's better while your comments are throwing things at Hanni and yelling "This is not how we treat family!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading~<3
> 
> Your kudos are screaming for Will to run, your comments are whispering for Nigel to follow him home.
> 
>  
> 
> _Taci = Shut up_
> 
>  
> 
> sku7314977.tumblr.com/  
> https://twitter.com/sku7314977  
> sku7314977@hotmail.com


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